


Fight Until You Don't Fade Away

by Maeve_of_Winter



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Caretaking, Dysfunctional Family, Eating Disorders, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mystery Illness, References to Illness, Secrets, Self-Esteem Issues, Sickfic, Slow Burn, Team as Family, Whump, team dad chara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21949273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeve_of_Winter/pseuds/Maeve_of_Winter
Summary: The first time Charlie gets sick, he doesn't think much about it. The second time, he tries to dismiss it as a coincidence. By the third time, he knows it's a problem but doesn't know what to do.Or, Charlie finds himself the victim of an unknown illness and pulls away from the team in response. The team refuses to stand aside and let that happen.
Relationships: Jake DeBrusk/Charlie McAvoy, Matt Grzelcyk & Charlie McAvoy, Patrice Bergeron/Brad Marchand, Zdeno Chara & Charlie McAvoy
Comments: 86
Kudos: 214
Collections: Hockey Holidays 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bluejay141519](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluejay141519/gifts).



> For Bluejay, I really hope you enjoy! I intended this to be a reasonably short fic, but it turned into a monster. I just couldn't stop writing about all of our favorite bears.
> 
> A few quick general notes to all readers:
> 
> This fic relies on the premise that hockey players need to eat _a lot_ and that their performance definitely starts to decrease if they don't. Protein and carbs are especially important for fuel, which is why Charlie is focused on getting them above all other foods in this fic.
> 
> You might notice that Zee's (Chara's) speech pattern seems a little bit stiff and formal compared to the other characters. That's because he is ESL, and I've noticed that when you learn a new language, you tend to learn the more formal and official aspects of it, and then stick with that style because it's what's familiar and certain to you. He's also extremely well-read in nonfiction books specifically, so I thought it would make sense if his speech is more formal and his sentence structure more varied than everyone else's, and I tried hard to keep this in mind when writing his dialogue. His wife Tatiana's speech is very similar. 
> 
> Charlie's BU teammates and parents are entirely creations of this fic. I am in no way trying to insinuate anything about his actual RL family and former college teammates. I do not believe they are in RL how they are characterized here, and I sincerely hope they aren't.
> 
> Finally, thanks for reading, and I hope you have fun with this story!

The first time Charlie truly noticed that he was sick was the day back from Thanksgiving, right after an extended practice with Jaro and Krej. They’d stayed late to try out some new configurations, and, as Tuukka had strongly suggested with a hint of a snarl in his voice, so Charlie could practice preventing himself from crashing into his own goalie during defensive plays. After an extra hour, Charlie thought their progress was reasonable, so he said his goodbyes before hitting the trainers’ room for a brief rubdown.

The locker room was completely empty when he returned and began to strip off his sweaty clothes; the other guys had already gone. Mindful of Zee’s various lectures to the younger players on post-practice nutrition, he swigged down a protein shake he’d brought from home before heading into the shower, ready to luxuriate under the hot spray and let the pounding water massage his weary muscles.

But the shower wasn’t nearly as relaxing as he’d hoped; within just a few minutes, his stomach was churning unpleasantly. By the time he staggered back over to his stall, he was outright nauseous. He’d barely slipped on his sweats before the rush of saliva to his cheeks had him bolting to the bathrooms and retching the entire contents of his stomach into the bowl, over and over, until he was only spitting out stomach acid.

The sudden bout of sickness left him slumped and trembling on the tile floor, and Charlie wasn’t sure that he would want to stand up again even if he could, both due to exhaustion and the worry he might have to throw up again. Irritation surged through him at the thought. God, being sick was the worst, and he hated lying around with nothing to do but wait to get better. Plus, he’d been really proud of himself for being proactive and getting the flu shot this year—if this was the flu, he was going to be so pissed.

But the longer he waited in dread for another round of vomiting, the more he realized that he didn’t  _ feel  _ sick. He wasn’t shaking anymore, he wasn’t sweating, and he didn’t feel dizzy or hot, like he would if he were running a fever. Now that he’d emptied out his stomach, he felt fine.

Experimentally, Charlie hauled himself to his feet, taking his time and leaning against the wall for support, but found that he had no trouble standing. Yeah, bile was burning at the back of his throat, and he definitely needed to gargle to get rid of that awful taste, but he certainly didn’t feel like he was going to collapse. As he trudged back to his stall, wary of needing to dash away again, he really just felt . . . normal.

The protein shake must have gone bad, Charlie decided. The recipe he’d used had included both milk and raw eggs, and either one of those could have spoiled at room temperature. And he was glad not to actually be sick, because he was meeting some college friends for beer and wings that night, and he didn’t want to have to cancel his plans.

It had just been some low-key food poisoning, he reasoned as he pulled on a shirt and then his socks and shoes. He didn’t need to worry about it.

* * *

The vast majority of the night went well, and he got to catch up with some of the guys he hadn’t seen in a little while in between polishing off beers and chicken wings. It was good to hang out everyone and hear about what they were doing since graduating. And while truthfully Charlie couldn’t help but feel self-conscious whenever they peppered him with questions about life in the NHL, he did his best to give them the answers they wanted before asking about their own lives. He didn’t want to come across as some kind of egomaniac who was lording his success over them.

The method worked almost every time, sometimes with his buddies getting more persistent about if Bergeron was as much of a saint as the rumors said or Marchand was as much as a hellraiser, but most of them were content to move on and fill him in on their own lives. And even if they weren’t, there was only one time when it actually bothered Charlie.

“It really is the funniest damn thing that you and Matt ended up on the same team together,” Talon remarked. He’d been a senior with Matt when Charlie was a freshman, dressing almost exclusively in Vineyard Vines clothing both then and now. He didn’t play hockey anymore, instead opting to work at some white collar job his father had secured for him at a marketing firm, and he would launch into great detail about his work to anyone who stood still long enough. In all honesty, Charlie didn’t consider him a friend, but Talon was friends with some of Charlie’s actual friends, so Charlie tried to tolerate him.

“You think?” Charlie asked cautiously, even as his fingers tightened around his glass. 

“Oh, yeah,” Talon said, draining his beer. “After all, it was the biggest joke on the team about how obsessed you were with Matt. It was like you were some sort of stalker, except that Matt seemed to actually like having you around.”

“We were d-partners,” Charlie reminded him tersely, and he hoped it didn’t sound overly defensive.

“Yeah, sure,” Talon said, not looking at Charlie and instead snapping his fingers at a passing waitress. “Hey, sweetheart, mind clearing this?” he asked, pointing at his dirty plate, and then rolled his eyes once her back was turned. “Christ, good service is hard to find, isn’t it? But yeah, that way you followed Matt around, panting for his approval like you were some sort of puppy. It was goddamn hilarious. I didn’t think people acted that way in real life. You still do that, or did you give it up since he’s not your captain anymore?”

Charlie could feel a muscle in his jaw twitching, but he refused to give Talon the reaction he was searching for. He’d already won, anyway—he was living the dream of playing in the NHL, while Talon was just some faceless corporate suit. 

So all he offered was a neutral, “Well, we’re not d-partners anymore,” even as he could feel his face sizzling with hot embarrassment.

Talon snorted. “Yeah, I bet Matt was jumping for joy the day that changed, huh? You were so  _ needy _ for him. It was weird. For a while, I was sure that you wanted his dick, but then I realized it was just that you just couldn’t do a damn thing for yourself without Matt. Like, you wouldn’t be able to exit a burning building without checking in to see if he okayed it, it was so bad. Still, the way you were always begging for his attention? I used to think his girlfriend was going to throw down with you for trying to steal her man. You were lucky both her and Matt were nice—not a lot of people would have put up with that shit. I know I wouldn’t have.”

“Color me surprised.” Charlie retorted before he could stop himself. Humiliated at having his friendship with Matt raked over the coals, he stood forcefully, wanting to put some distance between himself and Talon. “Excuse me—there’s someone I forgot to say hello to.”

“Yeah, sure,” Talon said easily, evidently not registering in the slightest that he’d offended Charlie. “I’ll just catch up with Braxton—hey, Brax, did you hear that I’m in marketing now? It’s at this really innovative firm . . .” 

As much as Charlie tried to put Talon’s casual insults out of his mind and concentrate on enjoying himself with his real friends, the words echoed in his brain, bouncing around to knock back into him out of nowhere at odd moments, his face heating all over again.  _ You just couldn’t do a damn thing for yourself without Matt.  _ Well, he was here, wasn’t he? Here visiting with his old college team while Matt was having dinner out with his girlfriend and her family.

Part of it may have been true. He and Matt had been very close during their time at BU together, even with Matt being a senior and Charlie being a freshman. They’d played defense side by side. Matt had been immensely talented, and he’d recognized Charlie’s talent, too, and they’d known that they’d both see each other again in the NHL. They hadn’t necessarily known it would be the Bruins, but the knowledge of their shared future had forged a strong friendship between them that persisted both on and off the ice. And Charlie may have been kind of starstruck that his older and very skilled college captain wanted to spend so much time with him, but come on, who wouldn’t have been happy to be making friends as a college freshman? Maybe he did follow Matt around a lot, but Matt had been happy to teach him the ins and outs of hockey above junior level and had just seemed glad to spend time with him. And Charlie had been thrilled about having a guide of sorts who he really hit it off with.

Of course, Charlie reminded himself forcefully as he retrieved a glass of water to finish off the night now that his drinking was done (a tip he’d picked up from Marchy), what he’d told Talon was true. He and Matt weren’t d-partners any longer. They were friends, but Charlie didn’t need to lean on him any longer. He’d made to the NHL on his own, and he’d made it to first line on his own.

No, these days, Charlie relied on himself.

* * *

The next morning, he didn’t even give a thought to his food poisoning again until he was chugging down another protein shake on the way to practice, somewhat guilty that he’d slept in too long to eat the entirety of the nutritionist-approved breakfast. Now he was trying to make up for it with some quick calories and protein.

It almost seemed like karma when he reached the rink’s parking garage and had to rush to the nearest restroom, sick for the second time in less than twenty-four hours and thus totally undoing his partial attempt at breakfast. 

Last night he had been able to put away a few beers and scarf down two dozen wings no problem, from his favorite hot garlic flavor to even the weird kinds, like peanut butter and jelly, that he ate on a dare. So his reaction couldn’t be just because of a bug.

Must have been the milk and eggs he had at home, Charlie told himself, shouldering his way into the locker room, still not feeling well. The worry about just what was in store for him at practice didn’t help, since now he had to face the prospect of skating on an entirely empty stomach. 

The stress must have showed on his face, because Brad noticed it almost immediately. “Hey, Chuckie! Nice of you to show up!” he said brightly as he passed by, giving him a friendly  _ thwack  _ on the shoulder. Then he stopped for a double take, a frown creasing his forehead. “Jeez, you okay? You look  _ terrible. _ ” Realization dawned on his face. “Oh, were you out late drinking with your college buddies?”

Heat immediately seeped into Charlie’s cheeks at Brad’s comment and the unintended but inherent accusation that came with it being spoken out loud in a crowded locker room. Any of his teammates could easily overhear and probably had. Every new Bruins player since 2013 was well aware of the rise and fall of Tyler Seguin in Boston, and when Charlie had been permanently called up, he’d made a resolution to himself never to be anything close to that specific brand of irresponsible drunken asshole. And even if Seguin had never been a part of the Bruins, Charlie ached to prove himself to the rest of the team, prove that he deserved his place here amongst Boston’s roster of longtime players. Prove that he wasn’t some dumb, helpless kid.

Knowing his response was crucial, Charlie forced himself to smile back and lift Brad’s and anyone else’s concerns. “I was out with my buddies, but the reason I look so sick is because after spending last night, I’m seriously concerned for the youth of today. Or at least, for their ability to handle a chaser.” He flung an arm theatrically around Brad’s shoulders and then Backy’s, who happened to be brushing by them. “Now I know how you old guys feel.”

Brad just snorted at him and playfully pushed him off, and Backy ruffled his hair affectionately, and Charlie continued to his stall, proud of himself for being so quick with a response. Still, his heart was pounding with worry at the prospect of any of his teammates seriously believing he’d been out drinking and was now stumbling into practice hungover. And Zee’s stall wasn’t too far from Marchy’s—God, Charlie loved his d-partner and considered him a true friend. He didn’t want his captain thinking he was suddenly going full Seguin on him.

Drawing in a deep breath, Charlie forced down his rising anxiety and concentrated on getting into his gear. He’d just have to really wow the guys by giving it his all in practice.

* * *

By the time Charlie gratefully clambered off the ice, he felt like the word “suffering” hadn’t just developed a new meaning for him, but seduced away his hypothetical spouse, taken his kids, and then stolen his house just for an extra kick in the teeth. Black spots were rioting at the corners of his vision as he hauled himself over to his stall, and he didn’t even strip out of his gear before delving into his bag and rummaging around until he located a protein bar and a Gatorade.

“Geez, Cheeks, you’re supposed to be a chipmunk, not a lion ripping into its prey,” Cliffy remarked, pausing briefly in unlacing his skates to watch the carnage, but Charlie was too busy chowing down to flip him off.

While the protein bar staved off the worst of the hunger pangs and probably prevented him from collapse, Charlie ached with hunger and his stomach gurgled with emptiness throughout his shower. As he dressed, shutting out all of the noise of his teammates goofing off around him and ignoring all conversation, the only thought in his mind was the question of which restaurant he was going to order a mountain of takeout from. Actually, he was hoping that no one would try to talk with him right then—he wasn’t sure if he could summon the energy to speak.

Just as he thought he might be able to escape the locker room unnoticed, Jake popped up beside him, leaning in and hooking his chin on Charlie’s shoulder with all his usual perception of personal space: none whatsoever.

“You gonna come over to my place right now for some gaming?” he asked without preamble. “I feel like if you work hard, you’re going to make some real progress in  _ Legend of Zelda _ today.”

Charlie rolled his eyes at him playfully. “Why? You got something new you need me to fix?”

As far as home repairs and improvements went, Charlie had learned to be very handy as he was growing up, and now knew his way around a 10-amp reciprocating saw backwards and forwards. Meanwhile, Jake’s own attempt to fix his leaking faucet once had led to his dishwasher flooding his apartment kitchen with foam. Charlie had rushed to his rescue then, and since that point, Jake left all his repairs to Charlie.

“You know, you could probably just call your building’s maintenance guy,” Charlie had pointed out one time as he stood on a ladder that he’d brought over to carefully check which one of the lightbulbs in Jake’s chandelier was causing the entire fixture to flicker.

“Yeah,” Jake had admitted as he ate handfuls of Life cereal straight out of the box. “But no offense to my building’s maintenance guy, but I’d rather spend time with you.”

Warmth had bloomed in Charlie’s core and crawled up his cheeks, and he’d been grateful to have the lightbulbs to concentrate on as an excuse not to respond.

Now, Jake playfully jostled Charlie’s shoulder. “I don’t only invite you over when something’s broken,” he protested. “Like, today is just for some gaming. I feel like if you work hard, you’re going to make some headway in  _ Ocarina of Time _ today.”

Weeks ago, Charlie had admitted to him that he’d never played a single  _ Legend of Zelda _ game. Since then, Jack had been encouraging him to stop by his apartment for gaming sessions, horrified by Charlie’s “sad lack of education and culture”. The phrasing had both Zee and Backy rolling their eyes in unison as they’d overheard. 

Despite still not being particularly good at any of the games, Charlie honestly like looking at their vibrant designs and seeing all the meticulously created scenes that artists labored over at length. And there was always something special about spending time with Jake, so Charlie agreed, but he was sure to caution him.

“I’m, like, goddamn ravenous, man,” he warned. “Super close to hangry. I mean, if Gitty challenged me to a hot dog eating contest right now, I’d beat him worse than Milbury beats people with their own shoe.” 

“Just what I want to hear,” Jake enthused. “My parents just visited, and they went grocery shopping for me and bought me all this food I don’t need, since I’m already on the meal delivery plan. All of it is just going to sit in my fridge and go bad, and I’m going to come back from a roadie one day to find it all gross and covered in mold. Come help me eat it.”

Charlie felt weak with desperation even just talking about food. “Okay, but it’s actual food, right? Not just, like, lemon meringue Greek yogurt or something?”

“It’s real food,” Jake assured him. “And my mom forgot I hated sweet potatoes, and I didn’t want to remind her, so now I have this huge sweet potato casserole totally untouched in the fridge. You can eat it, and then I can tell my mom that someone liked it.”

Grinning, Charlie felt a burst of affection for his friend that nearly overpowered his hunger. “Okay, I’ll come over. But only for your mom’s sake.”

Not a half hour later, Charlie was curled up in the corner of Jake’s cushy couch with a bowl piled high with sweet potato bake, Jake beside him and engrossed in searching for the seven sages. Sunlight streamed in through the high windows to bounce across the exposed polished wooden beams that lined the ceiling and then fell in patches that dappled the white carpet, creating warm pools of light that left Charlie’s skin tingling whenever he passed through them. The soft brightness and calm lent a cozy, soporific atmosphere to the apartment. It was a familiar and comfortable scenario for them, one that lingered in Charlie’s mind whenever he returned home to his empty, much less impressive apartment, causing it to seem infinitely more cold and lonely in comparison. 

But the more time he spent at Jake’s place, the more difficult it was to ignore the urges that surged through him as sat beside him on the couch for hour after hour. Jake was so close, just a foot away, and lately, Charlie couldn’t stop considering how easy it would be to just lean in and wrap his arms around him, to pull himself close and hold Jake and have Jake hold him in turn. 

(He actually wanted events to get decidedly less G-rated from there, but he refused to consider those fantasies, not even just for a second. Jake was his best friend; Charlie wasn’t going to even consider making a move unless he knew for sure his feelings were returned.)

At least today he could focus on refueling his body since he had Jake’s full permission to raid his fridge. Desperate to acquire the calories he’d lost in the morning, Charlie wolfed down the casserole, which actually turned out to be a shepherd's pie. And after that, he made them both omelettes stuffed with vegetables, chicken, and cheese, since Jake mentioned he had a craving, and then, at Jake’s behest, finished up some leftover pasta (“I ordered pesto, since I wanted to try pesto, but it turns out that I really don’t like pesto.”). By the time he was finished with it all, he was certain he was back on his required calorie count, and he was relieved for it.

But the relief was only temporary, because just a few minutes after finishing the pasta, his stomach was roiling. Bile already rising in his throat, Charlie excused himself to the restroom, where he was horribly sick to his stomach until there was nothing left.

Even as he wiped at his mouth, panic already seized at Charlie, the rush of adrenaline and the shakiness from being sick rendering it a challenge to even think straight. But he knew now that he didn’t have a bug, and that it hadn’t been just the milk in his protein shake going bad, not if the food in Jake’s fridge made him throw up, too. It was  _ him. _ It was Charlie himself. Something was really wrong with him, that suddenly, randomly, he was being _ sick  _ all the time.

As he washed his hands and then rinsinsed his face and then the inside his mouth, Charlie tried to accept this new reality, that he was trying to eat but he couldn’t keep anything down, but he kept trying to find an out. Maybe he has some kind of the flu that only stuck at certain times. Maybe he and Jake bought the same brand of milk, and an entire shipment had spoiled during transport.

But no matter how he tried to rationalize it, it always seemed ridiculous, and he emerged from the bathroom weary and weak with defeat, his heart thrumming with anxiety.

“Hey, Charlie, in here,” Jake called from the kitchen, and Charlie trudged over to meet him, trying to compose himself enough so that he could at least make an excuse and leave.

When he entered the room, Jake was pouring a can of Coke into a glass, the ice cubes within hissing and crackling at the flood of fizzy soda. He offered it to Charlie.

“I heard you getting sick,” he said, looking at Charlie worriedly. “You doing okay? You didn’t look so good before practice, either.”

Charlie forced himself to offer a smile; it felt like he had lockjaw. “Probably just a stomach issue. I’m going to go home and see if I can sleep it off.”

“You sure you’re good to drive?” Jake asked, looking apprehensive.

“Positive.” Charlie clapped him on the shoulder, trying to disguise both his worry and the clawing hunger just beginning to besiege him. “And I’ll text you when I get there to let you know that I’m okay.”

The entire car ride back, Charlie desperately searched for some kind of sign that he had the flu or some other kind of illness. He tried concentrating on each of his limbs to see if they ached; he focused on his body temperature to check if he felt warmer than usual.

He didn’t notice anything. He wasn’t actually sick. He just wasn’t able to eat.

As soon as he arrived back at his apartment and shot off a quick text to Jake, he immediately tore into the kitchen to find some food, his hunger so powerful it left him unsteady on his feet. Deciding to stay away from anything perishable and that it was probably better to stick with the simple stuff until he knew what was safe to eat, he ripped into another power bar as he jammed two slices of bread into the toaster and then retrieved the peanut butter from the pantry. Right beside the peanut butter on the shelf was the economy-sized container of mixed nuts he’d bought for emergency refuels, and he didn’t waste any time in scooping out handfuls and dumping them into his mouth as he waited for his toast to cook.

One peanut butter sandwich and some almonds didn’t do much to compensate for hockey practice on an empty stomach, and it wasn’t until Charlie was adding the seventh and eighth slices of bread to the toaster that he began to feel just regular hungry instead of like he was about to collapse from malnourishment. And now that he was thinking more clearly, he decided to try to actually try to cook food. In the freezer, there was a bag of imitation meat chicken patties made from one hundred percent vegetables from a brand Zee had once recommended. Charlie had bought them and then never gotten around to eating them, but now he fired up the oven and dumped the entire bag into a pan, reasoning he might as well have them ready for his dinner, too.

Opening the freezer reminded him off all the perishable items he kept there, and there was an entire fridge full of eggs and milk and cheese below that. And yes, Charlie was aware that his issue didn’t seem connected to food at all, that something was going wrong with his digestive system itself. But maybe . . . just _maybe_ . . .

Reaching a decision, Charlie grabbed a trash bag from beneath the sink and began to purge his fridge, grabbing any item that could have gone bad and tossing it inside. 

Maybe, just maybe, and with a little luck, getting rid of all this food would solve his problem. 

He tried his best to ignore the lingering sense that it wouldn’t do him the slightest bit of good.


	2. Chapter 2

Luck was evidently not Charlie’s friend these days, and cleaning out his fridge didn’t seem to have any effect on his new health issues. The fears he’d been trying to push to the back of his mind emerged in full force as he continued to get sick day after day. And his illness, whatever it was, only deteriorated from there, affecting him after almost every other meal or snack. Charlie didn’t know the trigger, didn’t know what had caused the onset, but as the days crept by and every other meal left him heaving, the reason didn’t seem very important. 

At first, he told himself himself that it would go away on its own, without him needing to do anything but carefully monitor what he ate, keeping track of any foods that seemed like they could be the cause and snapping photos of every plate before he sat down to eat. Of course, his diligent record-keeping didn’t escape the guys’ notice.

“Starting a food blog, there, Chuckie?” Brandon ribbed him at the first team breakfast when Charlie had done it.

“It’s just for data,” Charlie said, trying to offer a relaxed smile. “I’m trying to document what I’m eating, you know, figure out what foods get me to peak performance.”

Danton, Brandon, and Cliffy all looked impressed by his statement.

“Wow, that’s pretty hardcore,” Danton remarked. “Does Zee have you doing that? To better sync up your defense?”

Charlie shook his head as he looked down at his plate, unable to meet anyone’s eyes. “It’s, uh, something I decided to try on my own.”

“Good for you,” Brandon said approvingly. He looked contemplative. “Maybe I should try that. Start tracking what I’m eating.”

“Yeah, way to go, Cheeks,” Cliffy congratulated him. “That’s really smart. I wouldn’t have even thought to do that on my own without a trainer telling me to.”

The only response Charlie was able to offer was an uneasy shrug. “Just something I thought would be good for me,” he said, trying to look up as he spoke, like it was honestly no big deal.

And when he did, he noticed Backy and Bergy exchanging a glance that he couldn’t quite read.

* * *

The conversation between Charlie and the other guys was still bothering Patrice on the plane ride home.

“Did you hear it, too?” he murmured to Brad. Maybe it was intuition, maybe it was years of experience, or maybe it was common sense, but he found himself already suspecting Charlie’s food experiment would end in disaster.

In response, Brad shoved his phone into Patrice’s face. “Look at this one. It’s called ‘Holographic Oil-Slick’. I bet no one has anything like it. We could set a trend.”

Briefly glancing at the phone screen, Patrice quirked an eyebrow at the sight of the black liquid-looking paint with veins of shimmering pink, violet, and blue iridescence. Personally, he found the color indescribably hideous. 

They’d been discussing what color to re-stain their deck come the spring despite it still being early winter; the deck had always been one of Brad’s favorite projects. But now a new matter took priority.

He hummed noncommittally at Brad’s choice. “Let’s keep our options open,” he suggested, before changing the subject back to his main concern. “Did you hear what Charlie said? About keeping track of what he’s eating and logging everything? 

“Look at the eavesdropper over here,” Brad teased. “And to think people call you a saint. But yeah, Cheeks is trying some new nutrition stuff. It sounds like the stuff Zee did when he went vegetarian or what Ferry did to improve his performance back when he played for us. What about it?”

Patrice sighed, wondering that for a moment himself. On the surface, it didn’t sound like Charlie keeping a record of what he ate was dangerous—honestly, it was commendable that he decided to improve himself and his diet on his own. But he was young, only in his sophomore NHL season, and Patrice had discovered, after time and time again of being left with no choice but to wade in and save one of the younger players from their own short-sighted decisions, that they frequently were not very good at caring for themselves. He understood that the NHL was a steep learning curve and that it took a while to adjust. But now he often found himself gearing up to rescue one of the younger guys from their own choices at the slightest hint of trouble.

Chewing his lip, Patrice found that he wasn’t able to offer up much more than a shrug. “I guess I just worry,” he admitted, unable to help feeling sheepish as he met Brad’s dark eyes. “Eating the right amount is absolutely crucial for us, and if he screws around with that too much, he’s going to seriously hurt himself.”

“Yeah, you’re a worrywart. But that’s why you wear the A. You look out for our guys.” Brad bopped his head against Patrice’s shoulder affectionately. “But give the guy a little bit of credit, Bergy. He was a college athlete before coming here. He has a good idea of what he’s doing as far as food is concerned. And he’s Zee’s defense partner. If he’s trying anything that’s not good for him, Zee’s gonna notice and tell him to knock it off and probably drag him to his house for dinner for the next three weeks so he can make sure that Cheeks is eating enough.”

“I guess you’re right,” Patrice said reluctantly, even as he couldn’t help but cast another glance in Charlie’s direction.

“But you’re still gonna worry, aren’t you?” Brad guessed shrewdly, looking mostly amused and a touch exasperated.

“Guilty,” Patrice confessed.

“Hmph.” Brad rolled his eyes, but then regarded Patrice with a certain fondness. “Tell you what. As soon as we get back home, I’ll whip up a nice dinner for him and bring it over so that he can chow down on it after practice. That way you can be sure he’d getting all the nourishment an almost-rookie needs.”

Patrice glanced at him in surprise. “You’d do that?”

Brad seemed put out. “Come on, Bergy, don’t look so shocked. Have I ever let down a guy on the team who needed my help?”

“I didn’t say you did,” Patrice protested. “It’s just that you  _ don’t  _ think Charlie needs your help.”

“But  _ you _ do,” Brad pointed out. “Listen, if me making him dinner makes you feel better, then there’s nothing I’d rather do. And if it makes him feel better and helps him eat right, then I’m happy I could be there for him.” Leaning in, he nuzzled against Patrice’s neck. “Besides, you know that I like helping out your overprotective self and taking care of the younger guys.”

“Thanks, Brad.” Touched by his boyfriend’s thoughtfulness, Patrice snaked an arm around his shoulders so Brad could snuggle closer. “And I can help you out, too. With the cooking for Charlie, I mean.”

Brad snorted at that. “Thanks, but the goal is to make him eat something, not to need to call poison control.”

The remark had Patrice huffing. “Shut up,” he said, with no heat in his voice, giving Brad a gentle nudge. 

Brad ignored it in favoring just pressing closer, curling up and against him, and Patrice tried to soothe the rising feeling of dread in his stomach by smoothing his hand through Brad’s hair.

* * *

Charlie’s supposed revelations about his personal nutrition didn’t impress all of the team. Some of the vets seemed outright worried by it, and Bergy pulled him aside the first chance he had to speak with him about it.

“Listen, I really don’t want to tell you what you should and shouldn’t be doing with your food,” he said kindly. “But please know that you need to be careful about restricting anything you eat. We have our diet plans for a reason, and you’re a young guy, Charlie. You need to eat what the nutritionists tell you to and as much as they tell you to.”

“Yeah, I know,” Charlie replied, feeling like he was lying even as he spoke. He  _ knew; _ he just couldn’t act on their advice anymore. “Don’t worry, Bergy, it’s just a list.”

A part of him wanted to spill the full story to Bergy, vent about getting sick and how tiring and frustrating it was, but— 

_ You just couldn’t do a damn thing for yourself without Matt. _

He wasn’t a college kid anymore. He wasn’t the puppy following Matt around and waiting for him to help him out or make his decisions for him. And he couldn’t depend on the vets to swoop in and bail him out. So he clamped his mouth shut and focused on his food logs.

But trying to keep a list of foods turned out to be pretty useless, mainly because he needed to eat all the time. All hockey guys did. And right now, Charlie needed to eat even more than usual because he was always losing whatever calories he consumed. Even as he tried to carefully log every kind of food he put in his mouth, it was all for nothing. He was just eating too much to be able to find any particular cause, and he was trying to pound protein shakes to make up for lost calories. But they only worked sometimes, and he needed to drink them so often that he began losing track of which recipes he was using and what they contained. 

Luckily, some foods were nearly always safe, and he never got sick from them—nuts and power bars were okay most of the time, and so were milk and bread and most other kinds of grains. He contented himself to live off of them for a while, but honestly? It got old fast. But it was a choice between that or basically playing roulette with what he ate, and experimenting outside the safety zone usually ended up worse for him than better.

Fruits and vegetables in particular seemed to be hit and miss, and so did fish. After remarking once that Charlie seemed to be getting too thin, Brad, who took great pride in his cooking abilities, brought him a homemade dinner of salmon and asparagus with hollandaise sauce. While Charlie had been sure to thank him profusely at the time, all of the food had been promptly tossed in the trash when Charlie hadn’t even been able to eat half his plate without rushing away to be sick.

Though he knew he should be grateful that his teammate cared enough to cook him dinner, self-consciousness crawled through Charlie at just the thought of the incident. It meant that his teammates were noticing that something was wrong with him, that he wasn’t performing as well as he could be. 

Charlie was really _ trying.  _ He was really trying to do his best, to give his all. But he was so damn tired. Not just after practice or a game, but all the time. Food meant energy, and if he wasn’t consumed the amount of food he needed, he wasn’t getting the boost he needed. Now that he was having so much trouble eating, tape reviews with the team almost had him drifting off to sleep, and he needed to resort to jabbing at himself with the tip of a pen to remain awake. PR events became endless slogs he absolutely dreaded and constantly longed to be anywhere else once he was there. And while team dinners had been a steady favorite of his, but now he was flooded with trepidation at just the thought of scanning through the menu, trying to determine which foods would be safe to eat, or of his teammates noticing how he desperately wolfed down his meal, desperate for the calories. 

Plus, other guys besides Marchy were noticing, too. To Charlie’s eternal shame, Zee was one of them. 

“Is everything all right?” he asked Charlie after a particularly bad practice. “You seem kind of out of it.”

He tactfully didn’t mention the number of dekes Charlie had been letting get by that wouldn’t have fooled a sixteen-year-old in Juniors, but Charlie could feel his cheeks heating all the same. As much as he loved Zee, he hated this situation, he hated that his captain could so easily know he had so many issues that he needed a sit-down heart-to-heart. Dammit, he didn’t want to  _ be _ that person anymore. He didn’t want to be the person who needed to be saved from himself, he didn’t want to be the teammate the vets scoffed at and and thought was some hapless loser.

_ You just couldn’t do a damn thing for yourself without Matt. _

His hands tightened around his stick. No, this time he would solve his problems on his own, and he wouldn’t get the same reputation.

Charlie forced himself to smile. Or at least, he tried his best. Biting back the groan of hunger was difficult; all he wanted to do was race to his bag and scarf down the power bars waiting there. “It’s fine, Zee. I’m just having an off day.”

Zee didn’t seem especially convinced, regarding Charlie with a measured look, one eyebrow briefly rising skeptically before it faded away into a sincere expression.

“You know you can always talk with me, right?” Zee asked quietly, his green eyes searching Charlie’s face. “If there’s something going wrong in your life, you don’t have to suffer with it alone.”

A sharp ache pierced through Charlie as he forced himself to tilt his head up and meet Zee’s gaze. Several times he’d been on the verge of breaking down and phoning Zee or Backy or Bergy and pouring his heart out to them about his problem, his sickness, whatever it was. He knew that any of them would immediately rush to help him.

But this as his sophomore season. He wasn’t some dumb rookie kid, and he couldn’t run crying to his captain or the As and dump all of his problems into their lap and expect the older guys to fix everything for him.

It was time to be an adult and solve his problems on his own. For nearly two weeks since he noticed his illness, he’d been putting off going to the doctor, terrified of what he would find out, if he would get news that he was dying, or that he would live, but his hockey career was over.

“Thanks, Zee,” Charlie told him honestly. “That means a lot.” Then he stopped being honest. “And if something happens, I’ll let you know. I promise.”

While still not looking reassured, Zee nodded in acceptance, and Charlie skated off the ice, eager to soothe the painful hunger rising within him.

He could feel Zee’s eyes tracking him the entire time, and it required every ounce of determination within Charlie not to race back and tell him everything.

* * *

The bar around Patrice was a blur of laughter and high spirits as the team crowded in to celebrate their victory over the Pens. Brad got two of the four goals, and heat was already simmering low in Patrice’s belly at the thought of bringing him home to celebrate. 

But before he could delve deep into any kind of plan for later, Backy was slipping into the empty spot beside him and leaning closer to speak with him. 

“Notice who isn’t here tonight?” he asked without preamble.

Patrice pause to sweep his gaze over their assembled team, but even before he registered every face, he could already guess who was missing.

“Cheeks,” he replied with a sigh. Without warning, Charlie had suddenly faded away into a phantom where team get-togethers were concerned, showing up only to the mandatory ones and leaving the moment they were through.

“Right in one,” Backy said with a wry smile. It slipped away as he grew more serious. “Has he said anything to you lately? About what might be going on with him? He’s never around these days. It’s like he got traded or something.”

“I haven’t been able to get a word out of him,” Patrice admitted, defeat weighing down on him at the words. “Brad and I have tried to get him over to our place for dinner a few times, especially since he’s doing God knows what with his diet.” 

“Christ, I hope it’s just his diet, and not something CTE-related,” Backy remarked fervently, sipping from his beer.

Patrice glanced at him sharply, new worry spiking through him. “You think it could be that? He’s so young.”

Backy shrugged uneasily. “It fits with some of the symptoms—him being withdrawn, him being half-dazed all the time, and you have to admit, he doesn’t seem all that sharp lately in his play. But other things don’t really mesh, and he really looks like he’s lost weight recently. So I’m wondering if it’s just that he’s screwing around with what he’s eating too much and it’s coming back for him with a vengeance.”

Guilt nagged at Patrice. He’d tried to talk to Charlie about being careful not to restrict his calories, and at the time, he’d been reasonably assured that nothing Charlie was doing would be a threat to his well-being. Now, he felt like a fool for leaving Charlie on his own and not doing a better job of taking care of him. 

“I warned him about the risks of what he was doing last time, but I never followed up.” Patrice ran a hand through his hair, raising his eyes to meet those of his fellow alternate captain. “It sounds like a cop-out now, but I honestly wanted to, except that—”

“You didn’t know where to draw the line between being his teammate and being his dad?” Backy supplied. “Yeah, I walk that line with a bunch of the younger guys, too.”

Grateful for his fellow alternate captain’s commiseration, Patrice nodded wearily. Nothing in the world could convince him to give up his position of helping lead the team, but as the years went by and he grew older, it became increasingly difficult to view the younger players as just teammates when he was closer in age to being their much older brother or father. And yet, he  _ wasn’t _ their father or older brother; he couldn’t give them orders and simply expect them to follow. He needed to convince them to trust him, to confide in him, to listen to his critiques of their game or conduct, all without overstepping or bruising their egos. The age difference between himself and the rookies and sophomores might encourage him to be more protective, but he also was aware that it might make them more thirsty to prove they didn’t need his help. Like David had said, it was a careful line to walk. 

But if one of his teammates was in danger, if Charlie was hurting one way or the other and was keeping it to himself, then Patrice wouldn’t think twice before throwing all caution to the wind.

“Now that you mention it,” Patrice said, breaking the brief silence. “I think it’s about time that I tried again.”

“I’ll take a shot at it, too,” Backy promised. “Hopefully, one of us will be able to talk some sense into him if he’s doing some dumbass thing or another, or if there’s another problem, get him to open up about what it might be. I’m just really hoping that bad concussion he took last season isn’t giving him trouble now.”

Fear clenched in Patrice’s stomach, and he pushed his beer aside, sending up a silent prayer that it was anything but that. 

* * *

Carefully keeping the visit private from anyone within the Bruins organization, Charlie arranged a doctor’s appointment. From there, the doctor sent him to a specialist. The specialist sent him to the hospital for a dozen different tests.

At the end of the day, Charlie stumbled home to his apartment, his arms aching, his veins throbbing from the number of blood samples he’d had to give, barely able to respond to texts from Jake and Matt, each asking him to hang out.

In a week, he’d have his answer. He’d know if he was dying or not, if his career was ending before it had ever really begun.

As he lay there on the couch, his cheek pressed flat against the cushion, he knew he should haul himself back up to his feet and grab something from the fridge, not just to get his normal number of calories, but to make sure he was getting the right amount of nutrients after giving blood. After all, he wanted to bounce back at practice the next; he wanted to go back to not just trying to give one hundred and ten percent, but actually succeed in doing it. 

But the longer he thought about it, the less important eating seemed, especially since it would probably just make him sick again, so he found himself drifting off to sleep right there.


	3. Chapter 3

For years Charlie had resented the shape of his face, hating how it still looked round and chubby no matter what level of athletic intensity he was operating at, loathing that it had earned snark and comments from teammates, rivals, and parents alike throughout both his midget and junior years. Even his own parents hadn’t hesitated to offer up some unsolicited critique about his “robust appearance” whenever they wanted to suckerpunch him in a weak spot.

But now, when every day was a constant cycle of trying and failing to keep food down and just barely consuming the nutrition he needed, his face was rapidly changing. His cheeks were losing their fullness and his face was becoming drawn. Not only was he actually sick, but he  _ looked _ sick. To the point that his teammates were beginning to remark on it. 

“You sure you should still be doing this?” Jake asked Charlie softly at the next team dinner, as Charlie automatically aimed his phone to photograph his dinner plate before even lifting up his fork. 

(By now he didn’t even have to think about it; he just brought up the camera on his phone whenever he decided to give into the risk of eating.

_ Risk. _ Eating was a danger now. Not eating was also a danger. Any way he turned, he was screwed. Fuck, he needed to see those test results.)

Panic spiked within Charlie at Jake’s question, and he wasn’t able to stop his hands from shaking, but he tried to stay calm as best he could.

“Like what?” he replied, aiming for a relaxed, unconcerned tone. Closing the camera on his phone, he turned to look at Jake directly.

Jake didn’t hesitate to respond and met Charlie’s gaze without flinching. “This whole obsession with what you’re eating. Like, Jesus fasting for forty days in the desert, or however the fuck long it was, wasn’t as concerned with what he was eating like you are.”

Charlie did his best to shrug off the comment, even as his heart thrummed with anxiety. “I’ll be able to end it in another week or so, once I have my answers.” 

God, he hoped he had his test results by then, even if it were terrible news. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could exist in this constant state of questioning, laying in bed at night wondering just what the hell was wrong with him. Even worse, as long as he was without answers, he could still hope that it was something within his food, something he’d been eating—that was why he continued to document every meal. But he didn’t want to hope anymore; he didn’t want to think about how his sickness was slowly destroying himself and his career. He just wanted the certainty of an answer.

For a moment, Jake didn’t say anything, just scanned his face, and Charlie found himself wondering what he saw there, if he’d noticed the slight hollowness to his cheeks, the sharper angle of his chin. Suddenly, he was struck by the question of if Jake thought he looked better now that his face had really thinned out. 

But that wasn’t right. If Jake was asking, then he was worried by the change in Charlie’s person, not impressed by it.

“Okay,” Jake answered hesitantly, his eyes still lingering on Charlie’s face. “I guess if you think it’s working out for you.”

In that moment, there was nothing Charlie desired anything more in the world than to finally quit holding back and have someone just sit and listen as he unloaded all of his troubles. He wanted to tell Jake how tired he was of always needing to worry about his play, about if whatever he ate was going to make him sick, about if he was dying.

But Jake was his friend, not some emotional support animal. Besides, he no doubt had problems of his own without being burden by Charlie’s problems. And telling someone that you might be dying—well, that was a lot to ask that person to cope with. 

He wouldn’t say anything about it. Not until he had confirmation.

Trying to be as reassuring as possible, Charlie plastered a smile across his face. “I think that in the end, it’s going to be worth it,” he said, attempting to inject as much sincerity as he could manage into his voice.

Daring a glance at Jake, a pang of disappointment lanced through him when he saw that Jake didn’t look at all reassured.

* * *

Originally, Patrice expected to be waiting for Brad for ten, maybe fifteen minutes. But as the time stretched out to go on longer than a half hour, he found himself less and less optimistic about the results of Brad’s attempt to corral Charlie into lunch over at their house. When Brad eventually emerged alone from the parking garage entrance, he was disappointed but not surprised.

Stifling a sigh as Brad climbed into the passenger seat, Patrice waited until he buckled his seatbelt before beginning to back out.

“What was his excuse this time?” he asked, not even bothering to disguise the chagrin in his voice. 

Brad shrugged. “He just said he didn’t feel up to it.”   


Grimacing, Patrice’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as new tension seeped into his shoulders. Charlie had given him some variation on that same excuse the past three times he’d tried to coax him into spending some time with the two of them (and hopefully confiding in one of them). After his numerous failed attempts, he’d asked Brad to give it a try, but the results were now the same.

For the first few minutes of the drive home, neither of them spoke, but Patrice could sense Brad’s gaze upon him, and from his hesitation, he knew him well enough to know he was gearing up to say something uncharacteristically serious. Curious at what it could be, he sat back and decided to let Brad make the first move.

Eventually he did, but several minutes had to creep by beforehand.

“Bergy,” Brad began at long last. “I know that you’re worried about Cheeks, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t be, but . . . are you sure this is as big of a deal as you’re making it to be?”

Taken aback, Patrice turned to stare at him. “Are you really telling me you think his behavior is normal?”

“Not for him, but it’s not really that weird in general,” Brad pointed out. “I mean, the holidays are coming up, and those can be a miserable time for a lot of people, especially since everyone expects you to be happy. Maybe he’s just down about that. Or it might be an issue with his family that he’s really upset about but not ready to talk about.”

The reflexively urge to snap at Brad’s dismissal of his fears rose sharply within Patrice, but he determinedly tamped it down, seriously considering what Brad had to say. As much as he was convinced the issue with Charlie was serious, and as much as it annoyed him to have those concerns rationalized away, it was true that he was just running off of assumptions. Plus, Brad’s points were both logical. 

But Patrice’s hunches were rarely wrong and his instincts about issues afflicting the younger guys had been finely honed after years of experience. It was aggravating for him to listen to them be casually explained away, especially by Brad, who was usually his chief supporter.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Brad continued. “That you’re the A because you know the guys better and know how to lead a team better than I would. But I just want to make sure you’re not stressing out about a problem that doesn’t exist, or that we’re now coming on so strong that we’re scaring Cheeks off from coming to us when he’s actually ready to talk.”

Blinking at the first part of Brad’s comment, Patrice was barely able to register the rest. He turned to Brad incredulously. “You think I think I’m better than you because I wear the A?”

“Of course not,” Brad protested. “You’re a ten, Bergy. I know you don’t think that way. I just think that. . . well, that maybe you’re _ aware _ that you wear the A and I don’t.”

Startled at his boyfriend’s opinion of him, Patrice glanced over at Brad, suddenly questioning if he’d ever done anything to give Brad that impression. He hoped he hadn’t; he’d always made a point to live up to the example of what an alternate captain should be without ever letting it inflate his ego. It suddenly occurred to him that maybe his efforts hadn’t been as strong as he’d hoped, and maybe Charlie didn’t feel like he was a person he could trust. Perhaps he needed to work harder—or maybe he needed to do as Brad suggested and back off for a little while. 

Abandoning his typically rigid ten and two positions on the steering wheel, he reached out with a hand to grasp one of Brad’s, interweaving their fingers together.

“I know I have the A,” he told him, meeting Brad’s eyes steadily. “But I don’t think I’m too good to listen to anyone without one. I’ll back off from Charlie for a little while just like you suggested, okay?” 

Affection flickered in Brad’s eyes, and he gave Patrice a small smile. “Don’t give up on Cheeks just because I told you to. You have to do what you think is best for him, not for me. I know we were going to have our own private little Christmas this year, but hey, if you want to invite him over? Fine with me.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Patrice said slowly, thinking it over. It could work, especially if there was trouble brewing with Charlie’s family like Brad had suggested. “Thanks, Brad.” He tossed his boyfriend a smile.

“Anything for the team,” Brad said, looking pleased, settling back against the leather seat. “Here, I’ll text Charlie an invite now.”

* * *

The worst part of his illness wasn’t even the ever-present worry or coping with the uncertainty of just what the hell was happening to him. It wasn’t the constant hunger or the nagging dread that whatever bite of food he put in his mouth would be unceremoniously rejected by his body in just a few minutes, or even that his fears about that were usually proved correct.

No, the most horrible aspect about his illness was letting him team down again and again. Games were a constant grind now, and Charlie knew his performance was slipping even as he fought tooth and nail to keep it upright. Practices were even worse.

But now that he was sick, everything seemed so much more difficult than it had been before. His stamina was shot. Now he had to dig down as deep as he could just to push himself through a normal game, and practices were an ordeal he barely could cope with and then required the rest of the day for recovery. As a result, his social life was all but dead in the water, and he was repeatedly declining invites from the guys when it came to hanging out. The self-imposed isolation sucked, but he didn’t have much choice where keeping his secret was concerned.

Really, Charlie hated turning anyone down. He loved being part of the team, and maybe it was self-centered, but he loved knowing that various teammates were thinking of him. It was always immensely flattering when Zee invited him to dinner or drinks, that living legend Zdeno Chara wanted Charlie to come over to his family home to spend time with him. And Brad had invited Charlie to spend Christmas with him and Patrice, but Charlie had declined, unwilling to intrude on their private holiday together. Still, it had been a bright spot on an otherwise grim day to know that he was wanted. In fact, any of the older guys seeking him out was flattering. Or the younger guys. He just liked being around people, he guessed. And Charlie was always thrilled that Matt wanted to continue their friendship after college.

And Jake. The world always seemed a whole lot brighter whenever Jake was with him, and Charlie always found himself grinning when Jake wanted to spend time together. Even if it was just video games or dragging him to the hardware store to get his advice on what tools were needed to fix his latest home improvement fiasco.

So it always cut the deepest now that he was left with no choice but to reject everyone, especially Jake, time and time again. 

“You want to come out with a bunch of us tonight?” Jake asked him in the locker room after practice. “Most of our crew is gonna be hitting the bars—even some of the responsible family men.” 

The invitation didn’t catch Charlie by surprise; he’d heard a bunch of the guys making plans, but had deliberately remained quiet throughout, hoping that he wouldn’t be invited and therefore wouldn’t have to turn anyone down. He’d been so close to avoiding anyone directly asking him, too.

“Thanks, but I’m staying in tonight,” he said, concentrating on rummaging around for nothing in particular in his bag so he didn’t have to deal with Jake’s expression of disappointment. “Kinda tired.” In spite of himself, he found himself glancing up at Jake anyway.

As he did, an emotion Charlie couldn’t quite read flashed across Jake’s face, and he didn’t give up, leaning forward to speak with him. 

“We don’t have to go out,” Jake persisted. “You can just come back to my place and do something there.”

Honestly, Charlie was tempted. Being sick didn’t just suck because of the worry and the health issues; it was also incredibly lonely. Getting away from himself for a little while and just spending a few hours laughing in front of the TV with Jake seemed like the perfect vacation.

But perfect in theory wasn’t perfect in practice. The more time he had one-on-one with Jake, the more time Jake had to ask questions, and the more Charlie would struggle to keep his secret and avoid confiding in Jake. And if he failed, then Jake would be forced to share his stress and anxiety. Jake didn’t deserve that.

The test results would be available tomorrow. Once he knew for sure what kind of disease or condition he had, Jake would be the first person he’d tell, Charlie resolved.

“You go out and have fun,” he told Jake. “I just want to stay in and chill for a little while, you know?”

For a moment, Jake hesitated, but then he looked at Charlie with determination glinting in his eyes. “That’s about the only thing you do these days,” he said bluntly. “Look, I’m not trying to give you a beatdown or anything, Chuckie, but if we didn’t play on the same team, I don’t think I’d ever see you anymore.”

A hint of hurt slipped into his tone, and Charlie couldn’t do anything but stare back at Jake helplessly. As much as he desperately wanted to reassure Jake that he wanted to be around him, wanted to hang out with him, he didn’t know how to do that without explaining the reason for his absence in the first place.

In the end, he didn’t really respond to Jake’s comment at all.

“We’ll hang out soon, okay?” he said, not really meeting Jake’s eyes. “I’ve gotta run.” He tried to hurry from the room without making it too obvious, and karma got him back as purple flecks began skittering across the corners of his vision. He barely reached the door, and once outside the locker room, he collapsed back against the wall to avoid tipping over, his breathing coming in short gasps. God, he needed to get home and eat something.

Luck apparently decided it wanted some kind of blood feud that day because he was only in the hall on his own for a few seconds; Matt followed him outside. 

There was a certain kind of steadiness Matt brought with him to every situation, a calmness and good humor that seemed to radiate from his blue eyes. Throughout their time at BU together, Charlie had always appreciated it, had always been glad Matt seemed to be a rock in the midst of whatever chaos was around them.

Now, as much as Charlie wanted to be thankful for Matt’s dependability, he couldn’t help but resent it a little as Matt’s gaze landed on him and his entire face changed.

“You okay?” Matt asked, looking startled. “Did you get hurt out on the ice?”

His face heating up, Charlie shook his head, extremely embarrassed to be caught like this. “Nah. Just wiped out. That’s all.”

A frown creased Matt’s forehead. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Charlie tried to avoid Matt’s eyes without making it noticeable. His breathing finally evened out—if only it had done that before Matt spotted him. “That’s why I’m staying in tonight. I think I need some time to just relax.”

For a moment, the silence just spooled out between the two of them, Charlie anxiously waiting to see if Matt would mention his chronic absence at team events as Jake had. But several heartbeats went by without a word from him, and when Charlie dared glance up at him, he saw that Matt’s placid eyes were scanning him up and down. Assessing him.

Drawing in a deep breath, Charlie couldn’t help but tense, wondering if he was going to get a lecture from his old captain about not putting the team first.

But Matt only grasped his shoulder supportively. “Jake didn’t mean anything by what he said to you,” he told Charlie, who bit back a sigh that the conversation had been overheard. 

“We just miss you, Chuckie, that’s all,” Matt continued. He offered Charlie a benign smile. “That’s all he meant. You haven’t really been around, and we’ve all just been wondering where you’ve been. That’s all.”

An odd tightness clenched at Charlie’s chest, one that had nothing at all to do with the difficulty breathing from just seconds earlier. He missed them. He missed listening to Matt tell stories about how badly his dogs misbehaved, missed the lazy afternoons hanging out with Jake at his place. He missed going to the bars with Danton and Cliffy and trying to find the weirdest, most hipster-ish drinks and daring each other to try them. He missed amazing Brandon with stories about the more ridiculous projects and assignments he’d had to complete during college. He missed being able to drop in on Marchy and Bergy for dinner and be astounded by whatever delicious new recipe Brad was trying out that night.

What if he’d never get any of that back? What if he was going to have to cope with being sick for the rest of his life? What if he had to leave the team and give up his friends?

Short, shallow breaths were reverberting in his ears as his mind raced, very aware that he couldn’t seem to ever gulp in enough oxygen to fill his lungs. Matt noticed right away.

“Charlie?” His voice was strong but worried. “Charlie, man, you okay?” 

He gripped Charlie’s shoulder tightly, and the contact brought Charlie to raise his eyes to meet Matt’s. The blue color suddenly had visions of walking across the BU campus underneath a clear sky and a warm sun, with fewer cares than he’d ever had before in his life. 

God, he’d never missed his college days as much as he did now. And he wanted to keep as many leftover pieces from them as he could manage instead of tainting them with his current misery.

_ You just couldn’t do a damn thing for yourself without Matt. _

But he would. He had to protect Matt. He wouldn’t be that kid who relied on him for every little thing any longer. 

So he shook his head. “I’m fine,” he told Matt, impressed by how strong his voice was. “Like I said, just tired.”

He’d hate himself if he drove Matt away, if he lost his closest friend from college, by forcing him to put up with all of his problems  _ again. _ Matt shouldn’t get stuck dealing with that. 

But some of Matt’s steady calm evaporated, and he looked . . . angry? Definitely upset.

“Charlie,” he said seriously. “Maybe you should see someone. If something’s really wrong—”

“Nothing’s wrong, “ Charlie insisted, and his voice came out much sharper than he intended. He watched in dismay as Matt blanched at it, and immediately felt like a total asshole. His friend was just trying to help.

He needed to leave now, before he hurt anyone else.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he muttered, before turning on his heel and walking away.

He couldn’t decide if he wanted Matt to call out after him or not, but it didn’t matter, because Matt didn’t.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day, just after Charlie had concluded his almost daily routine of heaving up his first attempt at breakfast, his phone rang. He recognized the number as the hospital specialist, but didn’t answer.

He needed to focus on eating another breakfast and keeping it down, he told himself, as his stomach churned in nervous anticipation of the news the specialist might have for him. He couldn’t worry about his results now.

While he knew it was just an excuse, he also knew he needed to turn in at least one decent practice this month, so he let the call go to voicemail and tried not to flinch when his phone buzzed with a new voicemail notification seconds later. The remainder of the morning and his drive over to the rink was occupied by studiously ignoring the possibility of listening to it.

Truthfully, he should have just answered the damn phone and listened to what the hospital had to say, because he wasn’t able to focus on a fucking thing all throughout practice. Tuuks in particular seemed increasingly pissed by his lack of attention and was barely appeased by Charlie’s request to stay after practice for some extra shooting. And either he remained unimpressed by Charlie’s efforts in the extended practice or he was just feeling his Finnish roots, because he offered nothing in the way of conversation by the time they both finished and clambered off the otherwise empty ice into the deserted locker room. It was anyone’s guess if Charlie was forgiven or if Tuukka was still out for his blood.

While Tuukka swiftly stripped off his gear and made a beeline for the shower, Charlie took his time, very aware of the phone tucked just inside his bag that could literally fucking give him the answer between life and death. His heart was in his throat and his stomach roiling as he slowly removed his pads; he wanted an answer, but he wasn’t sure he had the strength to handle any bad news. 

Drawing in a deep breath as the last pad was stowed away and he was left in nothing but his sweaty compression top and tights, Charlie reached into his bag, deliberately ignoring his phone and instead extracting a Gatorade and a power bar. His hands were shaking slightly as he twisted off the bottle cap and then tore open the foil, either because of nerves, exhaustion, hunger, or some combination of the three. Charlie had never been much of a gambling man, and right now, very aware of his empty stomach and practically able to sense his blood sugar plummeting, he didn’t have the energy to guess which one it was.

This was his life now, he thought miserably. Being so tired he barely had the energy to chew the power bar. Being so tired he could barely skate during practice and having nothing to offer but failed efforts, and then ending by eating one of the few foods he could actually manage to digest.

But if he wanted his life to change, then he needed to deal with the truth about his sickness. As he finished the power bar and then drained his Gatorade, he knew he couldn’t delay listening to the voicemail any longer.

Hands shaking so violently that he could barely type in his passcode, Charlie had to try three times before he could pull up his voicemail. Anxiety almost paralyzed him where he sat, but somehow he summoned the strength to press the play button.

For the next thirty seconds, he sat in his stall, his pulse thundering in his ears, listening to the information the specialist was able to provide to him.

All day he’d been expecting his life to change with this call. For the specialist to have an answer that he might not like, but would at least give him a reason for his illness.

His life didn’t change. There weren’t any answers. According to all of the tests, he was in perfect health.

He wasn’t diseased. He just wasn’t able to eat.

The hand holding his phone dropped limply into his lap, and out of nowhere, a droplet of moisture splattered onto the screen, and then another. Too numb with shock and devastation to be truly confused, Charlie could only muster the vaguest question about their origin before he registered the warm moisture trickling down his face. And then, once he realized he was crying, he wasn’t able to choke back the rising sob in his throat. One sob morphed into another, and then suddenly he was crying uncontrollably, trying desperately to gulp in air that now seemed too thin to breathe. Tears blurred his vision till it hurt to look at the light, and the muscles in his back and shoulders ached with every jolting gasp as he tried desperately to draw breath into his lungs. Every inhale was a battle, and he was already so exhausted that Charlie thought he might just pass out there in the locker room.

He was just so  _ tired. _ He was scared, and he was sick, and no one had any goddamn clue about just what the hell was the matter with him, about whatever this illness was. And he was so fed up with the constant uncertainty, the constant wondering. Knowing the doctors couldn’t help him, that not even they knew what was wrong, left him hopeless and hollow, like anything positive had been scooped out of him.

Burying his face in his hands, he just sobbed in absolute despair, utterly frustrated and lost and out of options of what to do next. He didn’t care that he was in the locker room where any teammate or a trainer might wander in and see him, he didn’t care about trying to keep a clear head so he could tackle the problem logically. He just felt so exhausted and defeated and absolutely  _ done  _ with everything—and he himself might be done, if he couldn’t eat properly and no one had a goddamn clue about what the problem was.

The thought just pushed him into crying harder, with raw, harsh sobs that left his throat throbbing and sore as more and more forced their way out of his mouth.

While he wasn’t sure how long he sat there, tears flowing wildly, at some point a pair of warm arms wrapped around him and held him close. A voice spoke to him lowly in a soothing, rhythmic manner, but Charlie was too overwhelmed to recognize its owner. After several minutes, whoever it was pulled away, only for someone new to take their place, embracing him tightly. This time, the newcomer was immediately familiar to Charlie: it was Zee, the scent of his warm, spicy cologne wrapping consolingly around Charlie like a cozy blanket. He spoke to Charlie, too, murmuring softly as he rubbed his back in comforting circles. It was the presence of his captain that prompted Charlie to quit the dramatics and finally pull himself back together.

“You’re all right, Charlie, you’re fine,” Zee was saying as Charlie’s cloudy mind was at last able to register the words. “We’re here. We can help. You’re not alone, I promise.”

As much as he wanted to stay where he was, pressed close to Zee’s strong chest, his face buried in his soft sweater, he knew he had to face up to his problems sooner or later. So he leaned away from Zee, wiping away any remaining tears in his eyes, and, steeling himself, raised his head to look up at his captain and d-partner. Now that his panic had faded slightly, there was room for embarrassment for creep in, and he could have kicked himself for allowing his captain to see his complete freakout. God, what would Zee think of him now?

But as he looked up at Zee and searched his face, he couldn’t spot any kind of judgment or disdain at Charlie’s total meltdown. Instead, he just looked . . . worried.

“Hey,” Charlie rasped out, wincing at how his voice grated out of his throat. “Sorry about that. I, uh, was kinda upset.”

There was a scoff from nearby; Charlie turned to find Tuukka in the next stall over, wearing an expression of mixed skepticism and . . . something else, an emotion he couldn’t quite read. 

Tuukks must have been the first one to hold him, Charlie realized, shame searing through him at his episode being witnessed by not one but two teammates. So much for impressing anyone at all with his maturity and problem-solving skills.

But just like Zee, Tuukka didn’t seem scornful or disgusted by Charlie’s behavior. Instead, he looked concerned, his sharp features unexpectedly gentle as he caught Charlie’s gaze.

He passed him a new bottle of Gatorade. “You should drink this,” he told him kindly. “Especially after our long practice.”

Accepting the Gatorade wordlessly, Charlie could only glance down at the bottle and then back at Tuukka, understanding the instructions but suddenly at a loss about how to put them into practice. Zee seemed to recognize his dilemma and twisted the cap off for him.

“Do you need any help?” Zee asked him quietly, handing back the bottle, his green eyes studying Charlie’s face.

The question had his cheeks reddening; Charlie couldn’t quite believe he’d been so stupid that he’d convinced his captain that he wasn’t capable of holding a drink bottle by himself.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, grateful he could concentrate on sipping from the Gatorade as an excuse to avoid his teammates’ eyes.

“All right,” Zee said, but Charlie noticed he hadn’t once shifted his arm from where it was tucked securely around his shoulders.

“Are you hurt? Would you like me to get a trainer?” Tuukka offered, his voice still gentler than Charlie could ever remember hearing it.

Charlie lowered the bottle and stared down at it. It was the light blue kind, and the flavor had been his favorite back before he’d gotten too sick to care about having a preference. 

“I don’t need a trainer,” he said, looking up at Tuukka. “It’s just been a rough day for me. Just couldn’t keep going for a minute there.”

Tuukka didn’t seem to buy this response in the slightest and shot a glance over at Zee, and Charlie swore he could feel Zee’s arm tighten almost imperceptibly around his shoulders at the response.

“Charlie.” Turning his face back in his direction by gently grasping Charlie’s chin with several enormous fingers, Zee gave him no choice but to meet his eyes. “I really think you should let the trainers check on you. Just in case.”

Like it would do him any good whatsoever. Charlie shook his head. “I’m fine. I’m, uh—” he swallowed. “I’m sorry I made you guys worry about me,” he said, looking at Zee directly and then Tuukka, guilt piercing through him. “But I’m good now. I think I’ll just go on and drive home.”

He moved to stand, but Zee pressed a wide hand against his chest to stop him, and Charlie halted obediently at the solid weight bearing down on him.

“Please, Charlie,” Zee said quietly, never breaking eye contact with him. “Even if you think you’re fine, it would help both of us feel better to know for sure.”

Another pang of guilt stabbed through Charlie, this time sharper than before, as it occurred to him that even though he knew something was wrong with him, Zee and Tuukks didn’t. They were probably just as scared as he was, just in a different way.

He wasn’t going to deny either of them this peace of mind, especially not when they’d been so gentle and patient with him.

“Okay,” Charlie agreed, trying to force any reluctance from his tone. The last impression he wanted to give his teammates was that he was some whiny and petulant teenager. 

“Good. And once you’re finished there, you’re coming home with one of us,” Tuukka informed him, his voice firm but no less kind. “The girls would love to see you again. They liked those videos you showed them of Matt’s dogs last time. I got to hear about it for days afterward,” he said with a smile that belied the little roll of his eyes.

“And you’re always welcome in my home, too,” Zee told him without hesitation. “My horde thinks it’s the best thing in the world when I bring along someone from hockey.” 

At that moment, Charlie found it difficult to speak. He had such good memories both Zee and Tuukka’s kids, of playing with them at team parties and cookouts and being able to awe them with simple videos on his phone of his other teammates’ pets. But now with his illness at the forefront of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if this time would be the last time he’d have a chance to see any of them, with his health deteriorating like it was. If he really was dying.

“Charlie?”

Zee’s voice sounded more worried than ever, and when Charlie glanced up at him, it struck him that in this moment, Zee looked every day of his forty-one years.

In fact, he looked like someone who really, really didn’t need some dumbass kid unloading all of his problems onto him.

“I’m fine,” Charlie said again. It felt like the umpteenth time he’d spoken the phrase since his sickness had started. “Let’s go to the trainers.”

* * *

During his examination, Charlie still felt pretty out of it, like he was stumbling along through fog, but he was cognizant enough to answer all of the trainers’ questions. He tried and failed not to feel too guilty when he lied and said that he hadn’t been experiencing any unusual symptoms.

Tuukka didn’t remain with them for long, having a short, hushed discussion with Zee before taking his leave. But prior to his exit, he was sure to give Charlie a warm hug, an unusual off-ice gesture from the typically prickly goalie.

“We have a saying in Finland,” Tuukka told him, speaking lowly once more. “We say that those who ask for the road don’t get lost.” He made a point of holding eye contact with Charlie. “If you think you’re lost, just send me a text. I’ll give you directions to my house.”

As muddled as Charlie’s emotions were at the moment, he wasn’t so confused that he couldn’t be grateful. 

“Thanks, Tuukks,” he said, summoning all his remaining energy to offer his goalie the best smile he could. “I’ll stop by one of these nights, I promise.”

“You’d better,” Tuukka told him, thumping him on the shoulder before pulling him into a fierce embrace. 

A few minutes after Tuukka left, the trainers gave Charlie a clean bill of health, but not before Emily, their team nutritionist, gave him a warning about his weight. 

“You’re down almost twenty pounds since your last weigh-in,” she observed, her brows knitting together as she checked the reading on the scale and then consulted her tablet. “Stop by my office tomorrow before practice. I’ll give you a specialized diet plan to help you get that weight back.”

Heat blazed through Charlie’s face, very aware of Zee propped against a nearby wall, watching the proceedings with a type of controlled apprehension. He didn’t want his captain to think that he couldn’t take care of himself. 

So he told Emily, “Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that. Thank you,” and did his best to inject as much sincerity as possible into his voice.

Once he was cleared to leave, Zee didn’t waste any time in slipping an arm back around his shoulders and steering him to the parking garage. Given Charlie’s previous embarrassment, it probably shouldn’t have seemed as comforting as it did, but Zee’s presence had a way of making him feel safe, like all was right with the world. As such, Charlie didn’t protest, content to enjoy the warmth and weight of Zee’s arm and just be glad his captain cared as much as he did.

Still, when they climbed into Zee’s Audi, Charlie put all his effort into begging off from going back to Zee’s place. He couldn’t risk getting sick there and having the truth unravel.

“I’m just really tired,” Charlie explained, and it wasn’t even a lie. “Seriously, Zee, the only thing I want to do is go home and crash.”

Pausing just as he set to twist the key in the ignition, Zee cast him an oblique look that Charlie didn’t know how to interpret before nodding. 

“I’ll take you home,” Zee said, his deep voice still gentle. “But if you think I won’t be buying you lunch to take along, then I’ve clearly been failing you as a captain.”

“That’s not possible,” Charlie replied immediately, and even he was surprised at how readily he leapt to Zee’s defense. 

Zee chuckled slightly, reaching over to pat Charlie’s knee before he started the engine, and Charlie was left wondering if he was imagining that sad edge to Zee’s smile.

* * *

Although it was just a usual early Tuesday afternoon, Crate and Barrel was bustling with shoppers, no doubt in search of Christmas gifts to purchase for their loved ones. The hunt seemed to render some customers utterly oblivious to their surroundings; Brad and Patrice had nearly been run down twice in the parking lot, both times by soccer moms in oversized SUVs with stick figure family stickers pasted on the back window. They’d been forced to dodge clusters of shoppers as they congregated in the aisles to converse at length, seemingly blind to the various people trying to squeeze past them. Luckily, the outdoor furniture section was almost entirely devoid of other patrons, to the point Patrice wondered why the store even bothered to set out the display out in mid-December. But he didn’t complain; at least the lack of interest from anyone else meant that it was easy to navigate their options.

“Look at this one.” Brad paused to contemplate a gleaming white metal table and matching chair, both of a very modernistic and minimalist design. “They almost look like something in a spaceship, don’t they? And they’d match that blue-white ice sheen type of deck stain I wanted to go with, wouldn’t they?”

“They sure would,” Patrice agreed carefully, barely biting back another comment about how if Brad wanted to see ice in their backyard every day, they could just move back to Canada.

“Although . . .” Brad pivoted to study the display behind them. “I really do like the Tuscany collection, too. That deep red-orange combined with the really dark wood gives off a real mob boss type of vibe, doesn’t it? Might look really smooth with a type of dark stain.”

Turning slowly and unenthusiastically to glimpse the latest monstrosity to draw Brad’s eye, Patrice stifled a groan at the drab colors. He couldn’t think of anything less appealing for their home.

“Is there any patio furniture that just really give off the vibe of being patio furniture?” he suggested, only half-joking. “You know, stuff that looks like it would actually be used during a barbeque or something?” At this point, he’d even settle for one of those country chic type of styles, and he usually found them ridiculously tacky. 

“Bergy, I’m starting to think that the reason people call you a saint is because you’re just so boring,” Brad complained, but the buzz of his phone cut him off before he could continue. “Oh, hey, it’s Tuukka,” he announced, very pleased. “Hey, I’ll ask him to be the tiebreaker. Hey, Tuuks!”

“What tie? I didn’t even vote for anything,” Patrice protested, but anything regarding their shopping trip vanished from his mind the instant the smile slipped off of Brad’s face and transformed into an expression of worry.

“Yeah, sure, I can talk,” Brad replied slowly, his brows knitting together as he glanced Bergy’s way. “Patrice? He’s with me. We’re—” he broke off, listening. “Charlie? No. Should he have?”

The name had Patrice’s heart leaping with a surge of adrenaline, and he clenched his hands on their shopping cart, staring at Brad intently, desperate to hear more.

There was an interminably long pause as Tuukka seemed to be giving a detailed explanation, dismay growing on Brad’s face the longer it continued. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, he nodded, his mouth set in a grim line that didn’t suit his normally cheerful features.

“Yeah, we’ll keep an eye out,” he said, his voice uncommonly quiet as his gaze locked onto Patrice’s. “Okay. Thanks for taking care of that. Oh—make sure that he eats something, all right? He hasn’t been doing that. Okay. I’ll let Zee know we’re here if he needs us. Good. Bye.” The call ended.

The mention of their captain had new anxiety boiling within Patrice.

“Well?” he demanded instantly once Brad hung up. “What’s going on? Is Charlie okay?”

Sighing, Brad reached back to rub at his neck, looking very tired. “Physically, he’s fine,” he answered, a type of defeat in his voice that Patrice rarely heard. “But Tuukka said he had some kind of . . . I don’t know, breakdown in the locker room after they stayed after practice. Just started crying and couldn’t stop, then clammed up when Tuuks and Zee tried to ask him about it. They didn’t know what to think, but Zee is taking him home. I told Tuukka to make sure that Zee makes him eat something.”

Patrice felt the air had been ripped out of his lungs as he stared at Brad in shock, icy dread rendering his palms unpleasantly clammy. Now that his suspicions about Charlie having some kind of serious problem had been confirmed, he would have given anything for them to be incorrect. 

A moment passed before either of them spoke, and when Brad looked back his way, his expression was utterly gutted. “I’m so sorry,” he told Patrice quietly. “I was wrong about him still being okay. You were on the right track all along. I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” Spurred on by Brad’s clear distress, Patrice pulled him into a hug, not caring who saw them. “I would have rather have had you right, Brad. You know that. And besides, Zee is with him, remember? He’ll make sure Charlie is okay.” At least, Patrice hoped. Charlie had been so secretive lately that now he wondered if even their captain could reach him.

For several moments, they remained where they were, clutching at each other in the middle of the store aisle, the Christmas songs blasting over the speakers almost obnoxiously cheerful.

“Do you think we should try to invite him to spend Christmas with us again?” Brad asked eventually, speaking more into Patrice’s shoulder..

“We could try,” Patrice replied tiredly. He wanted to help their younger teammate, he really did, but in the midst of his guilt and worry, his optimism was at an all time low. They were running out of options to try to get through to him, and Charlie seemed determined to go at it alone, whatever the problem was. 


	5. Chapter 5

Once they arrived at Charlie’s apartment, Zee ushered him inside and to the couch, grabbed him a fresh bottle of Gatorade from the fridge, and, in two minutes flat, had assembled him a thick sandwich, complete with lettuce and tomatoes, using the lunch meat and cheese Charlie had purchased at the supermarket after much debate during his last visit. Once Charlie had eaten a few bites, Zee nodded in satisfaction.

“I’m going to go get lunch for us both and dinner for you,” he told Charlie, standing from the couch and reaching back into his pocket for his keys. “You rest here. Call me if you need anything or you start to feel unwell. I mean it, Charlie,” he added pointedly. “Anything.”

Charlie was too wiped out to do anything but nod gratefully. “Thanks, Zee.”

“Of course.” Zee ruffled his hair before walking out the door, and Charlie smiled as the gesture had the various jokes from the rest of the team about the two of them being father and son springing into his mind.

His smile faltered as he realized that Zee was the first person he’d had over to his apartment in nearly a month. That was his own fault, of course—he’d basically dropped off the face of the earth ever since discovering he was sick. He’d simply been too tired and stressed to keep up with the late nights and carefree afternoons at each others’ houses and apartments. True, he’d never intended to cut everyone off, but that was what had happened.

Well, then maybe if he was dying, it wouldn’t hurt the team as much when he passed away.

Though it was a morbid topic to ponder, once Charlie’s thoughts started in that direction, he couldn’t urge them any other way. If he died, Zee would have to get a new d-partner. Would it be Brandon again? Or would it be someone new? Months from now, would Zee be over at someone else’s house, bringing them lunch and fussing over if they were eating enough? Would Matt have someone new to mentor—maybe another call-up from Providence? And Jake—what would he be doing?

Without warning, an image unfolded in his mind of one of those cozy afternoons at Jake’s apartment, the sunlight pouring in through the high windows and bathing Jake in gold as he sat on the couch alone, Charlie no longer alive to join him.

The thought had Charlie’s throat going dry, even as he heard the apartment key scraping in the lock and Zee opening and shutting the door.

_ I don’t want that, _ he realized with sudden, icy trepidation. _ I don’t want to leave him. I don’t want to leave any of them.  _

“I’m back,” Zee called to him. “Since we don’t have an away game for a few days, I ordered enough to last you until then. Wait there, I’ll bring you a bowl.”

There was a brief clanking of china, and within just a few seconds, he joined Charlie, carrying two bowls, one heaped with a delicious smelling mixture of chicken, pasta, and italian peppers, and another bottle of Gatorade.

“There’s plenty more for you,” he reassured Charlie as he offered the bowl of pasta and chicken to him. “I ordered some fresh bread, too, but first you should be eating as much protein as you can.” 

Charlie accepted the bowl with shaking hands, still disturbed by his earlier thoughts. Zee noticed immediately.

“What’s wrong?” he asked concernedly, leaning in close to touch Charlie’s elbow. “Are you hurting again?”

Swallowing several times to ensure his voice was steady enough to speak, Charlie shook his head. “Just cold,” he replied, wanting to give Zee a smile but not having the energy for one. 

“Here.” Setting aside his own bowl of grilled vegetables for a moment, Zee reached for the fleece throw folded up beside him on the couch and swiftly but carefully tucked it around Charlie’s shoulders. He didn’t even comment on the blanket being emblazoned with a huge New York Rangers logo, instead focusing on wrapping around Charlie securely. When he was finished, he used his giant hands to smooth down any wrinkles in the fabric, making certain the material was flush against Charlie’s skin and wouldn’t let in any kind of draft. “Is that better?”

“Terrific, Zee,” Charlie replied honestly, truly touched by Zee’s concern. 

It was the quality Charlie treasured most about him: his captain genuinely cared about every player on the team and never hesitated to sacrifice his own time to demonstrate it. Even if it was an inconvenience for him, he never let anyone feel like a burden; he was far too caring and generous to ever let that happen. His constant kindness was one of the reasons Charlie was secretly flattered whenever one of the guys joked about them being father and son.

But with a flash of insight, Charlie wondered how Zee would take it if he actually did die. If those jokes would be too painful for him to even think about, if he wouldn’t want to consider that a teammate twenty years his junior had gotten sick and died out of nowhere. 

Glancing up at his d-partner, Charlie considered him, sadness sporadically sitting heavy in his chest. Zee was a guy whose convictions ran deep, who felt his emotions very strongly. He’d likely be devastated if Charlie died, and Charlie hated to think he could be the cause of any of Zee’s pain.

As if sensing his gaze, Zee lowered the water bottle he’d been sipping from and turned to look at him. Something close to alarm dawned on his face when he saw that Charlie hadn’t touched his food.

“You’re not eating?” he asked quietly.

Fresh guilt surged within Charlie, and he shrugged, fighting to even meet Zee’s eyes. “I’m not all that hungry.”

It wasn’t strictly true. Nagging hunger had been needling at him since the voicemail, but it was dulled by his stress and melancholy. Plus, he was so tired that sleep seemed a lot more worthwhile than food. What’s more was that even if he did go through with the effort of eating, it would more likely than not just make him sick again.

Logically, he knew he needed to eat. But realistically, he didn’t see much of a point.

Zee, however, didn’t appear to share this perspective.

“Charlie,” he said, his voice encouraging but with a distinct vein of urgency. “You cannot be going without eating. I heard you were trying new routines with your diet, but you have to be cautious when you’re dealing with that.” He pointed to his own bowl with his fork. “I was only able to start eating vegetarian after months of researching what I needed, and I still could only do that because I had years of experience knowing how to fuel my body. And even after all of that, I still need to eat meat sometimes for nutrition. You’re still young and learning how much food you need. You need to be eating as much as you can, especially after what the trainer told you today.” He spread out his hands, taking a deep breath and watching Charlie worriedly. “You can’t just not be eating. That’s extremely dangerous for you.”

“You’re right,” Charlie said, because what else could he say? Zee  _ was _ right. He should be eating, even if he didn’t feel like it would help much at all.

For Zee’s sake alone, he speared several rotini noodles onto his fork and took a bite, the zesty flavor welcome on his tongue in spite of his misgivings. It wasn’t until he swallowed that he realized that he was absolutely aching with hunger, and he was unable to resist digging in for a second bite, and then a third.

Visibly relaxing now that he saw Charlie showing some interest in his food, Zee patted him lightly on the back, taking heed not to disturb the blanket. 

“It’s good that you want to improve yourself, but you need to choose a safe way to do it,” Zee said earnestly. “And your first priority should be gaining back the weight you’ve already lost. If you want to change how you eat, I can help you—but it would probably be better to wait until the off-season.”

Affection for Zee and his sincere offer swelled through Charlie, even as trepidation churned in his stomach.

He might not even be alive come the off-season.

“That means a lot, Zee,” he said, a faint burning sensation starting in his eyes. He was lucky to have Zee and the other guys in his life, even if he didn’t know how much longer that would be. “Thanks.” Before he could get too sad, he changed the subject. “Tell me about how your kids are doing. Are they excited about Christmas?”

“Excited? They’re ecstatic,” Zee replied, his fondness for them clear in his voice. “I don’t think a day has passed without Elliz cutting out at least five new paper snowflakes, and Brian and Zack have been saving any kind of treat they get to leave out for Santa on Christmas Eve.”

Charlie laughed. “That’s so sweet. And really generous for a couple of five-year-olds. You must be proud.”

“I am,” Zee said simply. “Though sometimes the generosity can go a bit overboard. Yesterday, they were already making a box of carrots and lettuce to leave out for Santa’s reindeer. I barely was able to rescue the kale in time, or else I wouldn’t have had anything left for my salad.”

“That’s still really cute,” Charlie protested, grinning at the thought. “Speaking of the little rascals, what do they like these days? I need to know what to get them for Christmas.”

Zee snorted. “Trust me, they don’t need anything else. They’re going to get spoiled if they get any more toys.”

“It’s hard to imagine a kid raised by you and Tatiana turning out spoiled,” Charlie remarked honestly, and then winced when he realized the comment sounded like an insult. “Sorry if that seemed like a burn. That was supposed to be a compliment.”

“I took it as one,” Zee replied with a smile. “I know you well enough to know you’re not a mean-spirited person, Charlie.”

The praise had Charlie’s face glowing with mixed embarrassment and pride, and he wasn’t sure sure if he should duck his head or meet Zee’s gaze head-on. He settled for the latter without responding directly. 

“Then I guess I know you well enough that I should be buying presents for your kids,” Charlie teased. “Seriously, Zee, what can I get for them?”

Zee gave a mock long-suffering sigh, spreading his hands in defeat. “If you must, get them books, if you’re going to get them anything. You don’t need to buy anything, but if you do, I’d rather have it be something they can learn from. But even if you decide to get them toys, please,  _ please  _ don’t get them anything that requires batteries. With three kids under the age of ten, we already have enough noise.” 

Charlie grinned, unable to resist pushing the issue. “Does that mean I can’t get them any of those singing and dancing plush toys that are always super popular this time of year?” 

“Not unless you want to be the reason my wife leaves me,” Zee replied dryly, and they both cracked up at that.

He missed this kind of stuff, Charlie realized with a sudden ache. He missed being around his teammates and just talking to them about their lives. When he’d cut himself off from the team, it hadn’t occurred to him how lonely it could get.

But now he’d reach out more, Charlie vowed, his heart going heavy in his chest. Especially now that he might be dying.

* * *

Spurred forward by the assumption he might be on borrowed time, Charlie hastened to make plans with Jake. Nothing earth-shattering; just Christmas shopping together. While Charlie hadn’t been feeling well enough to brave the crowds on his own, with Jake by his side new energy was surging through his veins, as if they had some kind of bond that made them invincible once they were with one another. He didn’t even get sick at all before practice or leaving for the mall and was finally able to give a decent performance on the ice, and he was fairly sure that the vets had noticed the improvements as well. 

Suffice to say, his mood was more cheerful than it had been in weeks as he and Jake pushed their way through the bustling crowds at Prudential Center, and even the repetitive Christmas music blaring over the loudspeakers nor the numerous elbows he’d already taken in the side and stomach from passersby couldn’t dampen his high spirits.

“Where to first?” he asked Jake as he dodged a motorized shopping cart steered by a senior citizen who was making no effort to avoid mowing down other shoppers. He’d wanted to go to Copley Place with the hope that shopping at the luxury stores might be less stressful, but Jake had convinced him that more people would be at the regular stores. His logic had been that the more crowded it was, the better, because the less chance they had of being recognized, and, well, he’d certainly been right about the crowds. 

“You pick,” Jake suggested. “I’ve already got all my shopping done. I just got them all Bruins merch.”

“Seriously?” Charlie asked, half-amused, half-incredulous. “You didn’t even try to get them something they might want?”

“It’s stuff they want!” Jake protested. “My mom’s always wanting more fancy tableware for the holidays. I got her a set of these really cool Bruins-themed napkin rings.”

Charlie had seen those napkin rings on websites with other Bruins mech; specifically, he’d come across Brad and Krug scrolling through a tablet and snickering at them, since the metallic black and gold made the rings look like something a pimp might own. Zee, however had disagreed. “It looks like they ripped them off from the set of the latest  _ Pirates of the Carribean _ movie,” he’d opined. 

“And Jordyn?” Charlie questioned dubiously, referring to Jake’s Instagram model younger sister. “What did you get her, a Bruins-themed camera tripod?”

“Bruins-scented wax melts,” Jake informed promptly, wincing as an Uggs-clad woman with a bob haircut heedlessly barrelled in between the two of them with the double stroller she was pushing, running over his foot twice in the process. 

Charlie threw back his head and laughed even as he tugged Jake along, deciding they should keep moving to remain uninjured. “God, what would those even smell like? Fresh ice and Gatorade?”

“I thought it would be more like pine trees and cedar and forest stuff, you know, like actual bears living in the woods,” Jake contributed. “But geez, could you imagine if instead, it just smelled like dried sweat and stale beer?”

“If it does, you could just save your money and give Jordyn a hug, and it would have the same effect,” Charlie replied dryly, grinning at his friend.

“Oh, yeah?” Jake challenged as they ducked into the entrance of Club Monaco. “Take this!” He lunged at Charlie and seized him in a hug, nearly bowling them both over into a pair of other shoppers who were exiting the store. “Oh, sorry!” he exclaimed as they scrambled out of the way.

“You jackass!” Charlie chortled at him, but he couldn’t suppress a flood of fondness as Jake desperately apologized to the startled couple. The main reason he loved being around Jake was because he was a genuine goofball without a malicious bone in his body. As fun and whimsical as Jake could be, he was the first to apologize if anyone got hurt, even if it had been an accident. There was a genuine kindness to him, and it wasn’t outdone by his love of life and lack of self-consciousness.

Suddenly, as Christmas carols floated through the air and the crowds surged through the mall’s corridors, a sense of loneliness enveloped Charlie as he found himself desperately hoping that no matter what happened in the near future, that Jake wouldn’t change. That even if his own death came to pass, it wouldn’t damage Jake or change his approach to life. It wouldn’t be fair if Charlie’s own tragedy altered him in such a way.

Finished with his apology, Jake turned back to Charlie, but his brow furrowed as his eyes landed on him. “You okay?”

“Just thinking,” Charlie replied, an idea landing in his mind as he pasted a smile across his face. “If we’re going to be held hostage by Christmas songs while we’re here, why don’t we play a game with them? Like, what are your least favorite Christmas carols?”

“ ‘The Christmas Shoes’ because it’s depressing, that one song about not knowing if it’s Christmas in Africa because it’s really stupid, and ‘Santa Baby’, because I don’t want to know if some chick is fucking Santa Claus for money or not,” Jake replied instantly.

Charlie snorted at Jake’s frank analysis. “Nice. Mine are ‘Little Saint Nick’, ‘Sleigh Ride’, and ‘Jingle Bell Rock’, just because they play so damn often.” 

“Yeah, I have no idea if I’ve ever heard the same version of ‘Sleigh Ride’ twice,” Jake contributed. “Every artist in the free world must have a cover of it.”

“So, if we hear any of these songs playing in any of the stores,” Charlie continued, “we have to run out of the store like we’re on goddamn fire. If we don’t leave, maybe because we’ve found something we want to buy or we’re standing in line, we have to take a penalty or something. But I haven’t figured out the penalty yet.” 

Jake’s eyes sparked with mischief. “Oooh, the penalty can be that the one of us who asks to stay then has to buy whatever present the other one of us picks out for him. And we can also pick whatever person you have to give the gift to.”

Disaster seemed imminent with this plan, but Charlie agreed. “Sure, let’s see how many teammates’ marriages we can ruin by giving diamond tennis bracelets to their wives.”

Only a few minutes passed before Charlie incurred the first penalty when standing in line for the register to purchase a lovely deep red hat, glove, and scarf set for his mother. He didn’t know much about her tastes these days, but he was hoping she’d like the color—his mom never hesitated to make her opinion known whenever she felt that a gift didn’t meet her rather exacting standards. So when the strains of Madonna’s nasally pleas for Santa to give her a platinum mine reached his ears, he could only sigh and shrug at Jake.

“Guess I’ll be taking this penalty,” he said, and was rewarded with a devious grin from Jake, but no hints at what he was supposed to buy.

Only when they stopped by Barnes and Noble so Charlie could purchase books for Zee’s kids did Jake select an item for Charlie, placing it on top of the pile of books Charlie had pulled from the shelves.

“Here you are,” he drawled. “A present from you to the twins.”

Skeptically lifting up the colorful box, Charlie looked over each of its taglines. “ ‘Boppi the Booty Skakin’ Llama’?” he read, utterly revolted. “ ‘I shake my booty and dance to three epic songs’? Christ, it’s like something out of a parody. This thing is an abomination.” 

“God help the demented fools in the focus group who came up with it,” Jake agreed. He shot Charlie an angelic smile. “And God help you when Zee realizes that it comes with the batteries included.”

“If he’s going to hate me for buying one in the first place, he might as well not hate me for making his kids fight over it,” Charlie reasoned. “Hand me another one.”

Not long after that, they took their items to the register, grateful to find that they happened to be in the store during one of those rare magical moments in retail when there were actually enough cashiers on staff to manage the long line. As such, they were able to check out fairly quickly, pausing on their way out only because Jake spotted a table of  _ Star Wars _ books to gawk over. But when the Rascal Flatts’s cover of “Jingle Bell Rock” reached their ears, their eyes met over the stacks of books, and they both knew what was coming. 

Without hesitation, Jake grabbed his hand, towing him along at full speed out of the store, not even slowing down when Charlie’s bag of purchases somehow set off the security alarm. And with a whoop of laughter, Charlie sped up to keep pace with him, sprinting along beside him with their hands clasped between them, the holiday banners above them a blur of color and shimmer as they raced along.

They didn’t stop until they reached the center court of the mall, where a large roped-off display proclaiming to be “Santa’s Workshop” was set up to charge parents absurdly high prices to get a picture of their child with Santa Claus. Luckily, it was closed for the moment, with no one waiting in line, and thus no one for them to crash into as they slid to a halt, grabbing at each other for balance and laughing at themselves as they did.

“Is anyone following us?” Charlie glanced over his shoulder, the adrenaline rushing through his veins making it impossible not to grin even as he checked to be sure no mall cops were hunting them down.

“Doubt it,” Jake said, smiling widely himself. “With crowds like these and fistfights breaking out over parking spaces, security has better things to do than worry if someone stole, like, one overpriced paperback novel. And not only do you have a receipt to prove that you paid for everything, but come on.” He reached up to rest a palm against Charlie’s cheek. “Who’s going suspect this cute face of being the mug of a hardened criminal?”

While Charlie couldn’t be sure if it was just that Jake’s hand was very warm or if his face was doing it all on its own, he could feel heat rising rapidly in his cheeks, his skin tingling at Jake’s touch. With abrupt clarity, he was very aware of the short distance between between their mouths, especially since Jake was pressed right up against him, their arms around each others’ shoulders. The world around them seemed to slow down as Charlie gazed at his best friend, at the sincere smile on his lips and the genuine warmth in his eyes. When he took a breath, he could inhale the light, sugary sweetness wafting through the air from the nearby Cinnabon kiosk.

It would be the perfect moment to kiss Jake, he realized, feeling very stupid for not noticing sooner, though he didn’t know how he could have. And he wanted to kiss Jake and for Jake to hold him tight and kiss him back and want him back. There was nothing, nothing at all in the world he wanted more, and of that he was certain.

Yearning ignited within Charlie with terrifying intensity, and he had to physically yank himself backwards to stop himself from acting on the urge.

_ You can’t do that, _ he chastised himself sharply.  _ You can’t be starting something with Jake when you’re dying from some disease no one even knows of. You’re not being fair to him. _

But a part of him rebelled at his self-restraint, craving more of the contact, craving more of  _ Jake.  _ A part of him wanted to be selfish, but Charlie quashed it down, determined to do the right thing.

Jake looked confused at Charlie’s sudden movements, but Charlie couldn’t bring himself to offer an explanation.

“Sorry about you not getting a chance to look at those  _ Star Wars _ books,” Charlie apologized instead. “I know how much you like that kind of stuff.”

Though Jake’s brow furrowed briefly, it quickly cleared, and he offered Charlie an easygoing shrug. “Don’t mention it. I wouldn’t have bought any of those books, anyway—I still haven’t forgiven the Expanded Universe for retconning away  _ Young Jedi Knights _ .” Starting to amble forward, he glanced around the various directions they could go. “So, where to next?”

“Uh . . .” Charlie racked his brain for an answer, trying desperately to focus again. “Olympia Sports,” he managed to supply. “I wanted to buy my dad a new pair of winter boots.”

“Cool. Let’s go.” Jake set off, swinging his arms energetically back and forth in front of and then behind himself, ready to take on their latest task.

It took every ounce of self-control for Charlie to resist grasping one of his hands and holding it tightly. To not actually go through with it and kiss him this time.

Instead, he contented himself with stuffing his hands into the pockets of his parka, grimacing when the zipper edge scraped against the chapped skin of his knuckles.


	6. Chapter 6

In what seemed to be the blink of an eye, Christmas was hurtling forward till it stood a mere two days away. Through the grace of God and maybe a true Christmas miracle, they actually had a full two days off, with their last practice being the 23rd and then not resuming until the 26th to allow players time to travel to their families. But truthfully, Charlie couldn’t care less about the reasoning—he was just grateful that the lack of a Christmas Eve practice saved him from having to endure any kind of Mike Keenan death skate.

But his relief on the matter was short-lived; after practice finished on the 23rd, Cassidy summoned Charlie into his office and unceremoniously informed him that he was being dropped down to second line after Christmas.

“You climbed your way up to first line because you had a lot of skill, but you had more heart,” Cassidy told him, his tone more disappointed than angry. “I haven’t been seeing either of those at practice in weeks, and you barely show up to games anymore. You don’t start if you’re not going to play.”

Charlie had only nodded; while it was devastating to lose his place with Zee, he’d been predicting this outcome for weeks. The biggest surprise was that he hadn’t been moved down to second line before now. “I understand, Coach.”

Cassidy seemed to have been expecting more fire from him and appeared slightly dismayed he wasn’t getting any whatsoever. “If you start giving me reasons to put you back on the first line, Mac, you could rocket back up there in no time flat. But I need proof that you deserve to be there.”

There wasn’t much else for Charlie to do but nod in a determined sort of way, one that hopefully indicated that he understood Cassidy’s position and would work harder in the future. The only other option was explaining to him that he was probably dying of some mystery illness that prevented him from eating, and Charlie wasn’t going to force the man to listen to all of that right before Christmas. So, he kept his mouth shut and ignored the nagging in his head to just explain what was going on. Besides, he needed to get home and eat—even if he was awfully fed up with subsisting off of mainly plain meat, peanut butter, and protein bars. 

Needless to say, by the time he swung his car down the long driveway to Zee’s home that same evening for the annual team Christmas party, Charlie couldn’t have been feeling less full of the Christmas spirit. As he reached the line of guests’ cars skirting the edge of the driveway and parked his own vehicle a reasonable distance away to avoid blocking anyone in, he briefly considered just skipping the party entirely. As it was, he was showing up fairly late, an hour and a half after it started, and the Charas were punctual people—when they said a party began at seven-thirty, they meant that was when they were breaking out the rum and tequila. If he started up his car and again and just went back to mope at his apartment, it might not make all that much of a difference.

But no. Zee had to be aware of the line change, must know that he was getting a new defense partner for the next game. He’d be worried about Charlie’s reaction to the change, worried if he could handle it, and Charlie avoiding his party would no doubt be downright alarming for him. And Zee deserved a good Christmas, not to have to spend his free time wondering if Charlie resented him for the switch.

So if Charlie had to endure a party he had no enthusiasm about for the next few hours, so be it.

Even despite his glum mood, he couldn’t help but be cheered slightly at the sight of the house awaiting him. The Chara home was a vast classical brick Colonial, shrouded by trees, that sat atop a hill at the end of the winding driveway, reposing on its large lawn like a benevolent ruler surveying its kingdom. Just like Zee had said, it had been decked out to the nines for Christmas. Warm yellow icicle lights draped down from every inch of the roof, bordered every dormer window, and wrapped around the front porch, while glimmering stake lights in the shape of snowflakes fringed the entire set stone walkway. Sparkling life-size fiber optic reindeer pranced on the lawn just off to the right of the front door, and candles gleamed in every window against the simple, cozy backdrop of white curtains, their light spilling out of the glass to create glowing pools on the light blanket of snow that glistened on the ground.

Every available inch of the porch was elegantly trimmed with garland, and each of the double doors sported an enormous, magnificent wreath. Large wooden signs with cheerful holiday messages or arrows pointing toward the North Pole stood in each corner. Charlie was amused to note that beneath one that read “Reindeer Welcome” was a large Tupperware container filled with carrots and leafy greens that were going brown at the edges; no doubt it had been placed there by the Chara children after having yet again illicitly borrowed their father’s salad ingredients. 

Unable to locate the doorbell beneath the swathe of decorations, Charlie settled for juggling his various packages into one arm and pounding on the door with a closed fist. His efforts barely made a sound against the thick polished oak, but just as he stepped back to set down his pile of presents and try again, one of the doors swung open.

“Charlie!” Zee exclaimed with a wide smile, looking appropriately dad-ly in his khakis and typical half-zip sweater. “Come on in, get out of the cold.” Putting a hand on his shoulder, he pulled Charlie into the warmth and laughter inside. 

The house was already brimming with guests; the entirety of the Bruins roster plus their spouses and kids had been invited. As Zee took the packages so Charlie could slip off his coat, a duo of giggling blonde girls that Charlie recognized as being Tuukka’s daughters darted past them, with two more children he thought might belong to Kevan following in hot pursuit. Chatter and boisterous laughter seemed to drift out of every corner, along with whoops and shouts from Brandon and Pasta challenging each other to shots.

Noticing the overflowing coat rack, Zee stowed Charlie’s jacket away in the closet for him, speaking quietly as he did, and Charlie could hear him easily in spite of the din surrounding them.

“I’m glad to see you,” Zee told him, his eyes sweeping over Charlie, studying him. “I thought you might not want to be here tonight.”

A stab of guilt pierced through Charlie; he really _ hadn’t  _ wanted to be here. But there was no need for Zee to know that.

“I wouldn’t have missed this for the Stanley Cup,” he replied, hoping that he was being honest. “Besides,” he gestured to the wrapped gifts in his arms. “I had to give your kids their presents. And,” he added after a moment of hesitation, “I knew you’d want to see me, Zee. And I wanted to see you, too.” 

With eyes so soft they were nearly liquid, Zee wordlessly extended a hand and gripped Charlie’s shoulder, the touch somehow fierce but gentle at once. Not knowing what else to do, Charlie reached up and rested his own hand atop of Zee’s, his fingers meeting scarred, worn knuckles. For a moment, they simply stood together, the knowledge of the line change and the reason for it—that Charlie hadn’t been working hard enough, hadn’t wanted it enough—hanging between them. They were both quiet, resigned to coping with a change that neither of them had wanted. 

But the moment was broken when Zee moved his arm and slipped it around Charlie’s shoulders so he could guide him into the dining room.

“You need to eat,” he told Charlie, reflexively dodging a kiss from a drunken Wags as they left the main hall and passed beneath a spray of mistletoe as they entered the main part of the house. (He then paused briefly to allow Wags to sway on tiptoe and plant one on him to raucous cheers of nearby teammates, before hustling Charlie along.) “I have a plate for you in the warming drawer that meets all your new diet plan’s requirements, but if you want to have something extra, the holidays would be the time to do it.”

He swept a hand at the array of platters, bowls, and trays spanning the entire dining room table, skillfully slotted together like Tetris pieces so that not even a sliver of space went unused. Even nearly two hours into the party, there were still piles of food, from the traditional Christmas dishes like turkey and cranberry sauce to a towering cheese ball in the shape of an evergreen tree to a distinctly Scandanavian-looking fish spread. There hadn’t been room for the desserts on the regular table, requiring them to be arranged on another table in the corner across from the wine cabinet. Even as cautious as he’d become over the past few weeks about eating new kinds of food, Charlie’s eyes scanned the vvivid tableau of confections and strayed to a thick pumpkin pumpkin rolled stuffed with cream cheese filling that sat between an extravagant king cake and a dish of caramel-drizzled bread pudding.

“Since it’s the season of forgiveness, I figure we can forgive ourselves a few empty calories,” Zee told him, clapping him on the back. “If you can’t choose, try the peppermint tart—it’s delicious. Here, get yourself something to eat, and I’ll round up Elliz and the twins so they can say hello.”

“Sounds great,” Charlie said, grabbing a plate from the stack at the head of the table. It was still warm from the dishwasher. “Thanks, Zee.”

“Enjoy,” Zee said with a smile, and then ducked out of the room to round the corner into the hall, but not before being seized and smooched by a tipsy Coyle.

Chuckling softly at his teammates’ antics, some of the tension eased its way out of Charlie’s shoulders. Maybe this party hadn’t been such a bad idea after all and his earlier reluctance had been misplaced. Maybe this night would turn out okay.

Turning to the immense expanse of food before him, he contemplated his options. While he’d been sure to eat before he arrived just in case, he was always hungry these days, and even as he looked over the food, he could sense his appetite awakening again. There were some kind of baked mozzarella garlic knots that looked and smelled delicious, and next his gaze landed on a plate of roasted maple pears sprinkled with cranberries, then darted to a pyramid of sausage rolls. But the dish that really stood out to him was a tray of baked sweet potato slices topped with melted marshmallows and pecans. 

The sight of them brought the memory of curling up beside Jake on his couch and enjoying the sweet potato shepherd’s pie in the warmth of the afternoon sun, and with a smile, Charlie reached out to take one to start filling his plate. 

But the memory abruptly changed, searing across his mind like a hot brand, and his arm dropped back to his side as he recalled being violently ill just a few minutes later. That very afternoon had been just the beginning of a long struggle for him that still hadn’t ended. Hell, he didn’t even know how it would end, or if he would survive.

Any vitality that had been restored during his conversation with Zee drained away, and in spite of his hunger, Charlie set the plate back down into its pile and turned away from the food. It was too much of a risk to try to eat now and lose the calories he’d been able to put away earlier. No, he was better off without eating.

Instead, he shifted his focus to the wine cabinet and poured himself a glass of white from one of the open bottles. Knowing nothing about wines, he didn’t care which kind it was and didn’t bother to check. He didn’t even have much interest in drinking it. He just wanted to be seen holding the glass so no one questioned why he was empty-handed.

Ambling out of the dining room, Charlie scanned the clusters of teammates and their spouses around him, returning any greetings that came his way but not stopping to chat. Watching the festivities around him stirred an odd feeling of detachment, like he was viewing them through a screen rather than a distance of mere feet. The sensation was a strange one; these were the people he loved and valued. He could spot Marchy in one corner, leading a toast with his homemade eggnog, while in another, Danton and Cliffy cooed over someone’s toddler who was dressed up as a reindeer. They were having a great time, and he only wished he could join them.

Yet as he paused, standing and listening to the snippets of conversation from his nearby teammates, watched them drink and laugh and swivel to avoid the passels of children careening through every so often, an unshakeable sense of isolation descended upon Charlie. The joyous atmosphere in the lavishly decorated Chara household truly did make for the perfect Christmas party (okay, maybe it was a little less perfect with the stumbling drunk teammates), but all it did for him was remind him of how miserable and stressed he was. Nothing about Charlie was merry or happy or grateful, just scared and sad for what would happen in the next coming weeks. 

In that moment, Charlie realized what the issue was: this life no longer felt like it belonged to him. It couldn’t, not whenever every idle moment had his mind drifting to the question of if he was going to live or die within the next month, week, or even day. Not when he couldn’t look at food without feeling both ravenously hungry and simultaneously anxious that even just a bite would make him sick.

This carefree happiness the rest of his team was experiencing right now—that just wasn’t his life anymore.

Suddenly no longer able to cope with the joyous buzz around him, Charlie turned on his heel and strode through the garland-laden hall over to the rear living room. While the gas fireplace was blazing and cozy blankets were draped invitingly over the leather sofas, the room was empty, possibly because it was undesirably far from the food and booze. But whatever the reason, Charlie was thankful, as it meant he could slip outside onto the outdoor deck undisturbed.

The deck matched the rest of the house: elegant and stylish, large and impressive without ever appearing gauche. A staircase led down to a similarly elaborate patio where the Chara family frequently held barbecues for the team in the spring and summer, but for now, Charlie contented himself with leaning against the railing and letting the chilly air nip at his face. Moonlight bounced off the light coating of snow, lending his surroundings an unexpected icy brightness. The night was cold but clear and otherwise mild, with barely a whisper of wind, for which Charlie was grateful. His eyes were already stinging without any added help.

Drawing in a deep breath, Charlie tried desperately to suppress the tears threatening to flood down his face, but he wasn’t able to shake off the ropes of anxiety coiling around him. Questions manifested in his mind uncontrollably, spreading like a virus: would he still be alive by this time next year? Would he live to see next Christmas? Or would this night be the last time he ever could spend that time with people he loved?

If it was, Charlie told himself sternly, then he should get back inside and actually visit with his teammates, try to talk with them instead of avoiding them like he’d been doing for the last month. He needed to stop pulling away and instead start acting like he gave a damn about people beyond himself.

But try as he might, he couldn’t force down the swell of tears, even as he struggled to swallow the rising lump in his throat. Now he lived life with every day overshadowed by the choking, all-encompassing fear that it might be the last day he spent on earth, that he might close his eyes at night and never wake up again. He was constantly questioning if his latest game might be his final one; he left practice wondering if he would ever glimpse his teammates ever again. If he wasn’t occupying his brain with a task every second of the day, he’d waste those moments wondering how much time he had left.

Then again, he’d never noticed a change in his illness. There were some times when it seemed to get better—when he could go almost an entire day without being sick, when he had most of the energy he needed for hockey. Those were the breaks that helped him keep going, the hope of recovery urging him along.

And yeah, his illness usually resumed the next day or the day after, never disappearing completely, but it never returned with a vengeance. It never seemed worse after it waned for a few days. It was just there again, wreaking havoc in his life, fucking up his relationships and his hockey.

Maybe he had more time than he thought. He’d lived with the illness for this long. Maybe he could live with it his whole life.

Then again, maybe it was foolish to hope.

A dull headache started to pound at the base of his skull, not at all helping his efforts to maintain a brave face, and Charlie slumped against the railing, gripping it tightly in his hands and trying to resist the temptation to return to the warmth. The icy landscape seemed to stretch out below him for eons, without any lights visible across the sloping distance for as far as he could see, and in that moment, Charlie found himself besieged by an immense and intense loneliness, like he was the only person left alive in the world.

But his situation wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t as if he had no one tell of his illness; he just didn’t want to burden anyone with his problems. He didn’t want to hurt anyone else by revealing the truth, didn’t want to force them to shoulder the weight of his illness alongside him. It was his cross to bear and possibly die on; there wasn’t much of a point to bringing his friends down to suffer beside him.

This wasn’t college anymore, when he’d relied on Matt for nearly everything. He’d grown up since then, become a full-fledged adult, and he needed to manage his own problems.

Still, as he gazed out into the wintry night, painfully aware of the chasm he’d dug between himself and his teammates, he ached to bridge the gap again, to stop holding himself at a distance and take his place with them again.

He wasn’t just tired of being sick or of questioning how much longer he had to live. He was tired of being lonely.

The realization had fresh moisture springing into his eyes, and this time, he seemed incapable of slowing down his tears. Just as he was about to just give up and let himself cry, he registered the scrape of the sliding door, and he turned to find a familiar figure ambling out to join him: Jake, wearing a purple paper crown and a pair of ridiculously gaudy gold and rhinestone plastic earrings.

“Hey, Charlie!” Jake said with a warm grin, one so familiar and affable that at the sight of it, Charlie wasn’t sure whether to burst out crying or smile widely in return. “Not sure what you’re doing out here in the cold, but I’m glad to see you. I was wondering when you were going to get here.”

“I’m here now.” Charlie spoke through clenched teeth, fearing that if he opened his mouth, sobs would spill out. 

The muffled effect made his words seem terse, as if he were annoyed with Jake, and he cringed as Jake looked at him, taken aback. 

“You okay?” he asked hesitantly.

“I’m fine,” Charlie replied hastily, both to reassure his friend and to prevent himself from having enough time to start crying. He looked quickly at Jake, careful not to meet his eyes. “Nice bling, by the way,” he added, trying for a bit of levity.

It worked. Jake relaxed, chuckling as he flicked a finger at one earring. “Backy and his wife brought over a bunch of Christmas crackers, and I was the ultimate winner. Scored both of these and my crown.”

Charlie grinned at the obvious pride in his friend’s voice, cheering up significantly. Jake’s happiness was so genuine that it was infectious, and not for the first time, Charlie marvelled at how only a few minutes in his presence could improve his entire mood. 

Without thinking, he stepped forward and reached up, straightening the crown on Jake’s head from where it was beginning to go lopsided. As he leaned in close, he caught a hint of Jake’s cologne, inhaling the rich, woodsy scent that had images of worn leather jackets and autumn bonfires drifting into his mind. And without warning, he was gripped by a powerful longing to grasp that fantasy and turn it into a reality, to curl up in front of a woodfire with Jake, to touch his skin freely and to shiver at Jake’s touches in turn as he ghosted his hands across Charlie’s body. 

_ You can’t have that,  _ Charlie reminded himself severely. _ You can’t be going around falling in love when you’re dying. _

He breathed in again, deeply, trying to stop himself, trying to steady himself, even as his traitor fingers gently skimmed along the tip of Jake’s ear, earning a sharp intake of breath. But the only thing he managed to do was drink in more of Jake’s scent, only increasing the rising urge within himself to stop being noble and to give in to what he wanted. The proximity to Jake, the smell of his skin, was dizzyingly tempting, and the more Charlie fought against it, the longer the urge lingered in his mind, the less important the reasons for his resistance seemed, and soon the only impulse Charlie was aware of was sheer  _ want.  _

“Charlie,” Jake whispered, and Charlie’s gaze snapped to his, pulse pounding in his ears, mouth dry as he wondered if he was imagining that intoxicated look in Jake’s eyes.

But there was no imagining the slow, tender press of Jake’s fingers as he lifted a hand and lightly traced down Charlie’s face, leaving his skin tingling in their wake. He gently brushed down one side of his face and then the other, and then across his forehead, as if Charlie’s features were some kind of masterpiece to behold.

“Jake,” Charlie breathed, at once desperate both for Jake to stop and for him to continue. He  _ wanted _ —but he shouldn’t—but he did—but he couldn’t lie to Jake, not anymore. “Jake, we can’t—I’m not—”

Instantly, Jake leaned away. “Oh, sorry,” he said, ducking his head sheepishly. “You don’t want—I mean, being with me—”

The shame on Jake’s face stirred a burst of protectiveness from Charlie, a need to reassure him, a need to reverse whatever damage he’d just done, no matter what the consequences. “Of course I do,” he confessed, and with an unexpected rush of courage, closed the distance between them, laying his lips against Jake’s. 

Jake’s reciprocation was immediate; without an ounce of hesitation, he ripped off his crown and pulled Charlie flush against him and wrapped his arms around his shoulders, holding him close, and Charlie found himself doing the same, a comfortable warmth washing over him as he did. But the initial contact wasn’t enough, and now that he’d had his first taste, the desire within him only strengthened, urging him not to stop, to give Jake what he wanted, what Charlie himself ached to give to him. So he did, kissing deeper and more intensely, only breaking apart for short gasps of air before trying to press in closer to Jake than ever before. And Jake was more than eager, jamming a knee between his legs and grinding his hips into Charlie’s, bringing the comfortable warmth to ignite into an inferno beneath his skin that raged even as the tips of his fingers were going numb at the New England winter.

But then it hit him: a sporadic stab of hunger, so sharp and stinging that he instinctively jerked back, a choked exhale escaping him at its severity.

The acuteness of the pain brought him to his senses, guilt and dread drenching him as he met Jake’s surprised gaze and saw the alarm on his face.

“What is it?” Jake asked, stepping forward to bridge the distance between them again. “What’s wrong?”

He’d done it, then. Committed the very action he’d told himself over and over to steer away from, irreversibly tangled Jake up with himself and his problems. Now he’d destroyed one of the only friendships on the team that he’d managed to maintain. 

The deluge of anger and helplessness was too overpowering for Charlie to speak, and he could only shake his head mutely, shying away as Jake stepped closer.

His reaction only appeared to increase Jake’s concern, his forehead wrinkling in a frown. “Did I hurt you? Scare you?”

“No.” Charlie was able to muster up the will to speak, but his voice grated roughly out of his throat. “No, I just—” he broke off, at a loss of how to explain, his mind racing. He needed to find some kind of resolution, some method to undo the kiss, prevent Jake from being dragged down further, and then he was speaking without even considering what he was saying. “Look, this was a mistake.”

At that, Jake gave a little blanch, and Charlie hated himself for causing it. “A mistake?” he echoed, his features clouding.

A creeping uncertainty edged into Charlie’s mind, a distinct feeling that he was just digging himself deeper into the mess he’d heedlessly created, but his mouth seemed to be running on its own accord. The consistent sharp pangs of hunger weren’t helping his concentration at all, either. 

“Yeah,” he replied, without really thinking about how it sounded. “Not that you’re a mistake, or that you’d be a bad person to date or kiss or anything, but you and me—well—it’s just . . . listen, it just can’t happen. Me and you, I mean. I’m not—we wouldn’t be good for each other.” 

He wanted to explain his reasons, comfort Jake and tell him how much he actually wanted him, but in that moment, drowning in the sensations of panic and hunger, he couldn’t work out quite how to do that without also exposing his illness.

“ ‘Not good for each other,’ ” Jake repeated quietly.

The only response Charlie could give was an uncomfortable shrug, hunger ravaging through him as he did. “Yeah,” he repeated, feeling rather useless, wanting to reveal at least a facet of the truth, but not sure where to begin or end.

Jake gave a short nod, something in his face shifting, hardening. “It’s funny that you say that,” he continued in that same quiet voice. “Because I thought we were good for each other. That I was good for you, at least. Because you’ve shut out everyone else on the team, and I’m the only person you make time for at this point. And I thought that meant something. That maybe you didn’t feel like you could trust anyone else for some reason, but that you trusted me.”

“I do trust you,” Charlie protested, his mind whirling, trying to salvage the conversation, but he was too hungry to think straight, and the chill of the winter was suddenly burning his ears. “And I trust the team—”

“Then why do you avoid everyone now?” Jake blurted out, the quietness in his voice vanishing, replaced by a tinge of desperation. “Matt says he barely sees you, Bergy and Marchy say you reject them every time they try to get you over to their house, Backy says the same thing, and Danton can’t even remember the last time you two actually talked outside of practice. And the rest of the guys say the same thing! Meanwhile, you reject me every chance you get, and then you invite me to the mall and act like we’re the same old pals again only to go back to avoiding me the next day. Then you say you’re okay with kissing me, and you do kiss me, only then to tell me you don’t want me?” Jake threw his hands up into the air, shaking his head, but when his gaze met Charlie’s, he looked more honestly bewildered than angry. “So what the fuck, Charlie? What in the actual fuck? What’s going on with you?”

Hot shame coursed through Charlie, and he felt about a half inch tall. He’d had no idea he’d been hurting Jake and his other teammates so badly and so consistently, and now he realized how foolish and selfish he’d been for it not to occur to him sooner. At the same time, he had no clue what else he could have done that would have also allowed him to keep his secret.

“I’m sorry,” he told Jake, and he sincerely meant it, even though he had no idea of what else to say. “I wasn’t thinking that what I did would affect the team. And I’m sorry if I—I don’t know—led you on, or something.”

Now Jake was frowning again, that worried look back in his eyes as he moved toward Charlie, reaching out a hand. “Charlie, it’s not about if you led me on, I just want to know what’s up with—”

But Charlie didn’t have an explanation for him, and the hunger and the cold were too formidable of a combination for him to venture through with the conversation any further. He needed this talk to end; he needed to leave Jake, and to leave the party as well. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out again. “I’m just—Jake, I’m so sorry.”

With that, he hurtled to the porch door and back inside, ignoring Jake’s call after him. Unwilling to stay a moment longer, unable to bear the pain of being faced with reminders of a life that wasn’t his, he blazed through the rooms, dodging teammates and their family members, until he was back in the foyer.

Matt caught up to him just as Charlie was rummaging through the closet for his coat. “There you are! Zee’s been looking all over for you. He wanted to make sure his kids thanked you for their presents.”

Charlie shook his head frantically as another pang of hunger knifed through him. “I can’t. I’m leaving. Goodbye.” He turned toward the door.

Matt looked taken aback. “But you just got here! Is everything okay?”

It was on the tip of Charlie’s tongue to automatically reassure Matt that it was fine, he was fine, everything was fine, fine, fine. But when he caught Matt’s expression—full of honest concern, just like Jake’s had been, just like Zee’s had been—any impulse to lie drained right out of him. But he still couldn’t spill the entire story, not right before Christmas. That wouldn’t be fair.

So he offered up a half-truth instead. “Just the holiday blues, that’s all,” he told Matt with a hapless shrug. “I’m just not feeling this party.”

A sympathetic expression, along with vague relief, overcame Matt’s face. “I gotcha. Do you want to go back to my place? We could do something non-Christmas-y—order takeout, watch some action flicks.”

The invitation should have comforted Charlie; after all, he was lucky to have a friend who cared about him and was willing to forgo their Christmas celebration in order to stop him from moping around. 

But instead of a rush of happiness for his friend’s kindness, Charlie just found himself overcome with guilt for keeping the full truth from Matt even as he knew he couldn’t tell him. Too conflicted to accept the invitation in good conscience, he declined once again.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Go back and enjoy the party. One of us should have some fun.” He tried his best to give Matt a smile, but judging from Matt’s reaction, he wasn’t at all encouraged.

Instead, he extended a hand, moving closer. “Charlie—”

With a hot burst of shame, Charlie’s mind fled back to the identical action Jake had performed just moments earlier, how he’d run away and abandoned Jake on the porch, right after kissing him but then rejecting him. The mirror image of Matt doing the same thing left him cringing with regret and embarrassment. He’d made  _ such  _ a mess of his friendship with Jake, with his friendships with all of the team, going by what Jake had said. And it seemed like any direction in which he moved, he was going to ruin his relationship with Matt, too.

He should tell him the truth, Charlie realized dimly. Tell him about his sickness, tell him about how no one was able to give him a diagnosis, finally share this secret that was keeping him up worrying every night.

But no. If he valued his friendship with Matt at all, he wouldn’t expect him to drop everything solely for the sake of prioritizing Charlie’s problems. 

Opting to be honest about what he wanted, Charlie forced his face into a smile. “No, you stay and have fun. It’s really cool of you to offer, but don’t worry. I was going to leave early to catch my train tonight, anyway.” 

Matt’s eyebrows jumped up. “You’re not driving?”

“Didn’t want the stress of holiday traffic,” Charlie replied as calmly as he could, trying to suppress the hunger flaring through him even as he was starting to become desperate to leave so he could grab the power bars he now kept stashed in his center console. 

“Oh . . . okay,” Matt replied slowly, his blue eyes searching Charlie’s face. “Hey, you’d tell me, right? If something was going on with you?”

“Of course,” Charlie lied, without an ounce of guilt. Whatever helped Matt feel better.

Gripping the doorknob with one hand, he lifted up the other one and waved at Matt. “Merry Christmas. Tell your family I said hello.”

“I’ll do that,” Matt agreed, still scanning Charlie’s face, and then he abruptly strode forward and seized Charlie in a bear hug. “Merry Christmas, Cheeks.” When he stepped back, he looked up at Charlie, his face serious. “We might not be at BU anymore, but I’ll always look out for you. You know that, don’t you?”

The smile Charlie kept etched on his face felt as brittle as bare branches in winter. “Yeah, for sure. And I’m looking out for you, too, Matt.”

They exchanged their goodbyes, and Charlie hastily slipped out the front door, eager to avoid Zee or anyone else who would question his premature departure. The snow crunched underfoot and the dark sky stretched above him like a black shroud as he left the happy house behind and completed the solitary journey back to his car. It seemed to take much more time now than it had for him to arrive, and he had to forcibly prevent himself from glancing back over his shoulder several times as he continued to walk away. 

A crushing, hopeless sense of loneliness weighed down on him as he continued to his car. God, he’d ruined everything. His friendship and shot at a relationship with Jake, his time to chill out with Zee and prove the line change didn’t bother him, that he wasn’t some whiny kid who constantly required coddling. He’d even destroyed what was possibly the last holiday he’d ever spend with his team for himself.

_ Really got the hat trick there, didn’t you? _ Charlie thought miserably to himself as he turned the ignition.

The car’s radio automatically sprang to life as he turned the key, and for the first few minutes, he ignored it, preoccupied with torturing himself by replaying his kiss with Jake over and over again in his mind. 

But as the familiar verses and melody slowly registered, it dawned on Charlie that he was listening to the Rascal Flatts’ cover of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’. The same song he and Jake had heard together at the mall only days prior, when he’d grabbed Jake’s hand and pulled him along without even thinking twice. 

As the jazzy, upbeat music continued to play, Charlie’s eyes began to burn.

And if a few tears escaped down his cheeks despite his damnedest efforts, well, at least this time none of his teammates were there to see. 


	7. Chapter 7

The true reason Charlie had selected a train ticket rather than driving home was so he could avoid the stress of holiday traffic, especially since he already wasn’t at one hundred percent, and maybe even catch up on sleep. The latter proved to be a wasted hope, as he spent the entirety burying his face in his hands and cringing over the memory of his kiss with Jake. God, he’d been such an absolute idiot to allow that to happen.

His gloomy mood didn’t improve at all as he arrived back in New York, and it only deteriorated when he reached his house and met up with his parents.

“My God, look at you!” his mother beamed as he stepped over the threshold. “You’ve lost so much weight!”

“It’s about time, too,” his father enthused, clapping him on the back. “The way you used to eat, I used to wonder how you were ever an athlete. Guess the pros taught you something, huh?”

Neither of them even remarked that it was good to see him, and Charlie couldn’t help but contrast it with the warm, kind reception Zee had given him the previous night.

Their tune didn’t change throughout the day, and as Charlie was hauled through a cavalcade of Christmas parties, starting with a holiday brunch, continuing through various luncheons and drop-overs, and ending with a dinner party, they seemed determined to call as much attention to it as possible.

“Isn’t it amazing?” his mother gushed to one of her friends her knitting circle, dragging Charlie up to say hello. “He’s so much slimmer now!”

“He used to eat me out of house and home!” his father chortled to someone Charlie didn’t know, probably a guy he played golf with, as Charlie stood by uncomfortably, a drink in his hand. “Guess he’s not willing to do that now that he’s paying the grocery bills!”

Neither of them seemed to care about the reason for Charlie’s weight loss, and he didn’t see a point in telling them. Not when he was possibly dying and they were just celebrating what he looked like. If he told them how much hockey players needed to actually _eat,_ they’d probably be astounded.

While Charlie was able to suffer through the comments for a surprisingly long time, when they set out to drag him to the third Christmas party of the night, he refused, unwilling to listen to anymore of their shallow commentary.

“I’ve made plans with some friends, and I have to meet them,” he lied, not caring at this point if his departure upset them or not. “I’ll be in by midnight.”

There were no plans and he hadn’t contacted any friends, which was just as well, since he didn’t particularly want to see anyone. Instead, he just drove, aimlessly at first, but then pulled into the secluded parking lot of a local park, the playground gloomy and empty underneath the overcast winter night sky. Shutting off his car, he sat there for several minutes, breaths heaving in and out of him, keeping his face buried in his hands. The quiet dark around him seemed grim and oppressive as fresh fear and frustration boiled through him, his heart aching with an almost tangible loneliness, until he couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

Almost on reflex, he grabbed for his phone, thinking he could listen to some music, but another overpowering urge overtook him, and before he could talk himself out of it, he was calling Jake, his heart hammering in his chest. 

Five rings went by without any answer, and just as Charlie was scrambling to decide if he should leave a message or not, Jake picked up.

“Charlie?” he demanded right away, a touch of panic in his voice. “Are you okay?”

Charlie opened his mouth to answer, but then shut it again, knowing he needed to say something, but not sure what would be best.

“Charlie?” Jake repeated, his voice growing outright frantic now, and given that their last meeting had ended with Charlie literally turning and running from him, he couldn’t blame him.

“I’m here,” Charlie replied hastily, his voice grating out of his throat. “Sorry, I’m just a little out of it.”

“Oh, good,” Jake said, the sheer relief in his voice almost enough to make Charlie smile. Then his tone became worried again. “You doing all right?”

Still not knowing how to respond, Charlie decided to be as honest as possible. “I just . . . I really need to hear someone right now,” he said, rushing the words out, worried about his voice breaking. “I know it’s weird, but can you just . . . talk to me? About anything. Doesn’t have to be about us,” he added, cringing yet again at the memory of their brief kiss.

“Oh, uh, okay,” Jake replied, clearly uncertain. “I can do that. I’m actually out with some of my family right now at one of those outdoor light displays, but it’s really boring, so I can talk. Uh, it’s pretty tacky, too, and my baby cousin has already gotten lost once, but we found her pretty quick, so it’s all right now. So, I’m looking at this display of Santa Claus riding a tractor. It’s pretty corny. He’s in his tractor, and then there are a bunch of reindeer, each riding in their own smaller tractors ahead of him, like they’re still leading the sleigh or something. It’s a Santa tractor convoy.”

Charlie actually chuckled at that, laughter breaking through the misery that had settled over him. “Yeah, that is corny.”

Jake seemed to take that as a challenge. “You think that’s bad? There was another display of Santa riding an ATV and a whole bunch of elves with him. No reindeer this time. I guess the ATV makes them obsolete, but the tractors don’t.”

Charlie laughed again, and Jake kept going. For the next twenty minutes, he listened as Jake narrated each display, not caring what he said, just glad he was speaking at all, especially to him. After spending the day surrounded by people who didn’t give a damn about him, it was nice to hear from someone who did, even if each word was a reminder that Charlie had hurt him.

Eventually, though, the running commentary wound to a close, and Jake had to say goodbye.

“My phone’s only at three percent battery, and I don’t have a charger,” he told Charlie, his voice overflowing with regret. “But I’ll text you again as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay,” Charlie said, struck with a pang of disappointment but knowing Jake had already done far, far more than he had any right to ask of him. “I’ll hang in there, Jake. And thank you for doing this,” he added, a swell of almost desperate affection for his friend flowing through him.

“Anytime,” Jake replied firmly, and they exchanged their goodbyes.

Once he hung up, Charlie sat in the dark for a few moments longer, barely able to cope with the enormous relief of Jake not holding the kiss against him. He was so preoccupied with marvelling at his good luck that when his phone buzzed with a new call, he almost jumped out of his skin.

This time it was Brad on the phone.

“Hey, Chuckie,” he greeted him cheerfully. “Jake texted me that you wanted to hear from someone, so I’m going to regale you with tales of what I made for Christmas brunch and dinner, okay? And if you need me to shut up, Bergy is here for you to talk to, too.”

The revelation of Jake’s thoughtfulness and Brad and Bergy’s willingness to help him out left Charlie struggling to speak, and he could barely form a response. 

“That actually sounds really good,” he managed, and then sat there for the better part of the night, his teammates taking turns speaking to him until he let them know they’d done enough.

* * *

Late Christmas Day saw Charlie back in Boston; citing his practice schedule, he’d ducked out of his family celebration as soon as after-dinner coffee had started, not caring if he disappointed his parents. Never before had he been so grateful to call another city home. Every time his thoughts drifted back to Christmas in Long Beach, he burned with anger, his stomach twisting with disgust for his mother and father. How could they look at him and think that he looked good? Like a hockey player should look like? Why didn’t they see that it wasn’t a good thing that he could barely eat? But they’d been proud, so damn proud to see it happen, lavishing him with praise when he only picked at his Christmas dinner.

God, fuck them.

That morning before practice, Charlie opened his refrigerator, leaning against the freezer door, contemplating his options. He stared for a full minute and then for a minute and a half at his limited options. Then he closed the door without picking anything, ignoring the hunger gnawing at his stomach. 

He was damn tired of trying to eat but failing. Who the fuck couldn’t eat, anyway?

But eventually it registered that he couldn’t practice on an empty stomach, so he grabbed a protein bar and a protein pack, chewing them both mechanically and washing them down with milk whenever a mouthful stuck in his throat. 

Moments later, he was getting sick again. 

And when he hauled himself up from the bathroom floor, spots peppering his vision for the millionth time that month, he couldn’t really see a point of trying a second time.

* * *

Practice sucked, to put it plainly. The incident on Christmas Eve was evidently still fresh in Jake’s mind, because he kept trying to catch Charlie’s eye without approaching him, and Marchy and Bergy were darting looks at Charlie every so often, clearly worried as well. 

For his part, Charlie didn’t know how to deal with it or what to do with it. He probably should be grateful that they cared, and he appreciated them taking the time to put up with him on Christmas Eve, but he was so damn tired that he just ended up annoyed at having yet another problem to deal with. And he was tired of being tired, too. Fuck, he could just use a break from it all. 

Doing his best to ignore all of them, Charlie attempted to focus on his skating, well aware that he could benefit from the extra concentration. The blades seemed dangerously wobbly beneath his feet, keeping his balance was a battle, and trying to get enough breath into his lungs was an all-out war. Simple drills that Charlie could have easily breezed through six weeks earlier now left him gasping and winded.

“You okay?” Jake asked him worriedly, pausing for a moment as Charlie halted completely at the end of a 3-on-3, almost doubled-over as he fought for each inhale. “You sound like an asthmatic General Grievous, and he already had problems to start with.”

More than anything else, Charlie wanted to give in and take a break, to cease the struggle he was quite plainly not going to win. But if he stopped now, he’d have to give an explanation, tell everyone that he knew something was wrong with him, had been for weeks, but he just wasn’t sure what.

He wasn’t going to do that. He needed to show the team he could handle himself. 

“I’m fine,” he rasped to Jake. It felt like his catchphrase at this point. “I can keep going.” He skated off without waiting for Jake’s response.

But minutes later, as if it were karma from the hockey gods punishing him for being such a dick to his teammates, it became apparent to Charlie and everyone else that he couldn’t.

One second he was desperately battling it out with Jake for the puck right behind the net, and in the next, purple splotches was all he could see and he was slumping down to the ground until his cheek pressed against the cold ice. There must have been an impact in between from when he fell, but Charlie couldn’t remember it happening, nor could he feel the sting of it. He couldn’t even remember falling.

Jake must have scored, because his familiar whoop of victory echoed off the glass, but it seemed shorter than usual, abbreviated somehow. Charlie tried to open his eyes, find out what was going on, but the bright lights seared into his skull, so he clamped them shut again as his head started pounding.

Then there was a cacophony of skates screeching across the ice all around him, and suddenly there were so many voices bouncing in his ears that he felt dizzier than he had all morning.

“Chuckie? Hey, Cheeks, are you—”

“—hit his head?”

“—just went down—”

“—get the doctors. _Now.”_

The last voice was Zee’s. It reached Charlie’s ears distantly and somewhat garbled, as though he was stuck underwater while Zee remained above, but he could have picked out his d-partner’s voice if he uttered a whisper on an artillery range. And he wanted to speak to him, say something to make him feel better, but just breathing took up all of his effort.

“Charlie, can you hear me? Are you still awake?”

Zee again. Charlie wanted to respond, but when he tried to draw in enough breath to speak, he wound up choking on air. Summoning every iota of strength within himself, he stretched out a hand, his arm aching to his very bones and trembling violently as he did, hoping Zee would understand.

And seconds later, Zee was tugging off his glove and then grasping his hand, his long, warm fingers coiling tightly around Charlie’s.

“It’ll be okay,” he said, his deep voice firm. “You’ll be okay.”

There was the thud of someone else dropping to their knees on the ice on Charlie’s other side.

“He’s right,” said a scared but ardent voice, much younger than Zee’s. “You’re gonna be okay. I promise, Cheeks.”

A thumb brushed along the sliver of his forehead not covered by his helmet, and memories of his Christmas kiss with Jake flood back into his mind.

Jake. Jake was here.

“B-believe you,” Charlie rasped, and he wasn’t sure where he found the strength.

* * *

Reality from that point forward dissolved into a strange, elastic-like existence, where time and motion stretched and blurred before his eyes like some kind of fever dream. All Charlie knew was relief at escaping the bright lights of the arena, and then he was being shifted from a stretcher to a padded bench in the trainers’ room. For a period of time he couldn’t track, the doctor and trainers bustled around him, asking him questions and checking for a concussion by shining a penlight into his eyes and giving him the Stroop test. There were so many people charging in and out of the room that Charlie couldn’t keep track of who he’d been speaking to, but two constants remained: Zee, who stood staunchly by Charlie’s side and coaxed him into taking sips of water whenever the trainers okayed it, and Jake, whose face was ashen against his dark compression shirt, but had refused to budge from Charlie’s side since he’d been carted off the ice. 

Eventually, the ongoing flurry of activity around him slowed as Angelo, the team’s doctor, gave Charlie his diagnosis.

“Dehydration,” he stated plainly, glancing up at Charlie from the tablet he was scrolling through. “And low blood sugar definitely played a role, too. You have anything to eat this morning at all?”

Embarrassment crawling up his spine, Charlie shrugged uncomfortably. “I got sick this morning. After breakfast and before practice. Didn’t eat anything else after that.”

“So you basically went to practice without eating anything?” Jake gaped at him. “Are you suicidal or what? No duh, you fainted!”

Hot shame seared through Charlie, and he had to clamp his jaw shut from firing back a reflexive angry retort. He felt like the biggest idiot in the world for not realizing the obvious result of practicing on an empty stomach. Jesus, he’d been stupid.

Unable to look at anyone, he let his gaze drop to the floor, totally silent. 

“Aw, Chuckie, my bad. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be a dick,” Jake said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “You all right?”

Charlie couldn’t respond; he could sense tears building again, and he’d be damned if he was going to let them escape once more. He’d spent too much time crying lately as it was. Christ, he fucking hated this—not just having no control of his body, but also his emotions. 

His hands were shaking. Charlie tried to force them to stop by digging his nails into his palms, but it was useless; his entire body was trembling.

Just as he was desperately hoping no one would notice, there was movement beside him, and then one of Zee’s mammoth hands was resting on his shoulder.

“Charlie,” Zee prompted him gently. “Has this been a problem for a while? You not wanting to eat?”

Charlie’s mouth went dry, and panic surged through him. Zee’s guess was much too close to the mark, especially for the times when he knew he should eat but couldn’t bring himself to.

“I want to,” he managed to croak out. “I want to, and I get really hungry, but I—-I kept getting sick. Like, sometimes two or three times a day. And I try to eat more, because I know I should be eating, but I can never keep enough down, and I—” he cut himself off, choking back a sob that was threatening to come out. 

Angelo tapped away at his tablet. “Consistent nausea and vomiting, at various times of day, shortly after eating?”

Charlie nodded wordlessly, not trusting himself to speak.

“That should give us a starting point.” Angelo gave Charlie a reassuring smile as he moved to exit the room. “Let me get some of our guys back here. We have a little bit more to do with this info before you can leave.”

Charlie just nodded again as Angelo departed, frantically battling to force down the lump swelling in his throat. While tempted to try to say something to Zee or Jake, he was too drained and defeated to even make the attempt, and he knew he’d probably lose it the second he opened his mouth. 

God, this was all so pathetic. _He_ was so pathetic. He’d never even wanted to talk about his illness, never wanted to bother to try to find out more about what was wrong with him when no one had any answers. And here he was, spilling his guts right in front of two of the three guys he’d worked the hardest to shield from the truth about him.

But Zee didn’t seem to think he was pathetic. Instead, he folded Charlie into a firm hug.

“You don’t have to worry,” he said determinedly. “We’ll make this right, Charlie. It will all be okay, you’ll see.”

Within a millisecond, Jake had plastered himself to Charlie’s side as well, embracing him tightly. “Zee’s right. We’re gonna get through this. I’ll be there for you. We’ll all be there for you.”

Though he still didn’t trust himself to speak, Charlie reached a trembling arm around them both, squeezing them shakily in turn.

He couldn’t honestly say if he actually believed either of them, but as he sat sandwiched between Zee and Jake, he felt more hopeful and comforted than he had in a long, long time.

* * *

Several events transpired in the next few hours: the doctors gave him a second exam to assess his symptoms and weight loss, an appointment was arranged for him at the hospital the next day for more tests and blood work, and, pending a diagnosis of his condition, Charlie was placed on IR indefinitely. The last one was a blow, and it hurt for Charlie to hear it, but logically, he knew management couldn’t allow him to continue playing when he had an unknown illness. 

Meanwhile, just before the second round of exams commenced, Jake snagged Charlie’s apartment key so he could go pack a bag for Charlie to take with him to Zee’s house. By the time the doctors finally cleared Charlie to leave and he and Zee were entering the parking garage, Jake was just pulling into his space again. Hopping out of his car to meet them, he bounded over to Charlie and waved to Zee, who was making a quick phone call to his wife.

“I was able to get everything you might need,” he told Charlie as he insisted on carrying the bulging duffel bag over to Zee’s SVU for him. “Jeans, T-shirts, workout clothes, pajamas, sweatshirts—you name it, and it’s there.” He tossed Charlie a lopsided grin. “I even included that Rangers shirt you still keep around for God knows what reason.”

“Thanks, Jake.” Charlie tried his best to muster up a sincere smile even as fatigue plagued him. “You’re a good guy.” He leaned in to give Jake a hug. “And thanks for helping me out at Christmas,” he murmured to him, too self-conscious over the incident to speak the words any louder.

“You’re welcome.” Jake hugged him tightly in return, but then startled, leaping back. “Sorry! I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“I’m fine,” Charlie told him, touched at Jake’s earnest concern. “I’m sick, maybe, but not fragile.”

“Glad to hear it,” Jake replied, his voice going a bit soft and his eyes a bit sad. “I just wish that—” he broke off and looked away, and then seemed to swap in something else. “I know you’ll be better soon and back playing with us again soon.”

“I hope so,” Charlie said fervently, at which Jake drew him into a fierce hug again.

“I know so,” Jake said determinedly, and even in spite of his worry, some of Charlie’s fears were put to rest at his friend’s unwavering positivity. 

Zee walked up to them then and spotted the bag Jake was holding. “Thank you so much for getting that, Jake,” he said, giving Jake’s shoulder an approving squeeze. “It was very kind of you.”

To Charlie’s amusement, Jake’s face tinted pink at the praise. “It was nothing,” he muttered, looking away.

“Was very nice,” Zee corrected him gently. “I want to get Charlie home now, but I’ll see you tomorrow at practice. Thank you again, Jake.” He patted him on the shoulder.

“Anytime, Zee,” Jake said, clapping him on the back in turn. He shifted his attention to Charlie, who couldn’t avoid a stab of guilt when he saw the plain worry on Jake’s face. “Hey, Chuckie, make sure you get some R and R at Zee’s place, huh?”

“Gonna do my best,” Charlie replied instantly. He would have agreed to world domination if it meant wiping that worried look away from Jake’s hazel eyes.

Jake relaxed a little bit at that. “Good. Do it for me.”

 _I’d do anything for you,_ Charlie found himself wanting to say, but really, how much could he offer Jake when he still might be dying?

So he contented himself with a simple goodbye and waved to Jake as Zee whisked him off in his Audi, trying to ignore the sense that he should have said something more. 

While anxiety built further and further within Charlie as Zee neared his home, he was left so utterly exhausted, both physically and emotionally, from practice and then being forced to confess the truth about his illness that he didn’t really have the energy to protest. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to. The bright and cheerful Chara house would be a welcome change from his empty apartment, and he felt so weak that he didn’t think he could make it on his own even if he wanted to. 

Still, trepidation ebbed through Charlie as Zee pulled his SUV into the house’s garage, and he couldn’t prevent his hands from fiddling with the strap on his duffel. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he knew he needed to offer Zee an out from having to put up with him for God knew how long.

“Zee, seriously, you don’t have to do this,” Charlie told him right after Zee shut off the engine. “I know you want to be nice, but I can just live at my own apartment. I don’t, like, want you to think you have to take me back to your place and wait on me or anything.”

Tension descended upon Zee’s features as his gaze swept over Charlie, but then it faded into merely a serious expression.

“If you did go back to your apartment right now, do you think you’d be able to live on your own?” he asked quietly. 

Unable to meet Zee’s gaze, Charlie just stared at his hands. Anger and despair welled up inside of him, choking him; he’d so desperately wanted to prove himself to the team, especially the vets, especially Zee. Now he’d brought himself so low that his captain didn’t even think he’d survive by himself—and the worst part was that he was most likely right. 

Instead of being put off by Charlie’s silence, Zee patted his shoulder consolingly. “You don’t have to stay at my home if you’re uncomfortable. Backy or Bergy each told me they’d be happy to have you. But none of us want you to be alone anymore with your health in question.”

Letting out a stuttering breath, Charlie looked up to face Zee, realizing his reluctance gave the wrong impression. “It’s not that I don’t want to be with you. I just don’t want to be a burden. You’ve already done so much for me, and I don’t want to intrude on you and your family.”

Zee blinked at that. “What makes you think I don’t consider you part of my family?”

“I . . .” Charlie was at a loss for words, too dumbfounded to speak. Boss of Boston Big Zee considered him a part of his family? When Charlie couldn’t even stick it out as his d-partner? 

“You’re welcome in my home, Charlie,” Zee said, earnestness clear in his vivid green eyes. “I want you to know that. There is no reason for you to stay away.”

“What about your kids?” Charlie asked, finding his voice. It had been his chief concern since learning Zee wanted him to stay with his family: exposing the Chara children to the grim reality of his continuing illness. “For all we know, I could have cancer or something. Won’t it scare them to have to see me so sick?”

“I think it would scare them much more if they learned their father was the kind of man who didn’t help someone who very much needed it,” Zee replied simply. With that, he unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the car door. “Come on, you need to get inside where it’s warm. Don’t get your bag, I’ll carry it for you.”

And Charlie, much too tired to continue worrying if he was imposing on the Chara family or not, allowed himself to be ushered into the home without further protest. He was also still dazzled by Zee’s easy declaration. _Family._ Zee thought of Charlie, young and inexperienced as he was, less than two seasons into his tenure as a Bruin, as part of his family. 

Maybe he did belong here, Charlie thought, as Zee urged him to sit down in front of the crackling fireplace. Even if just for a little while.

* * *

Usually, Brad and Patrice split the chores, and since Brad was by far the better cook between them, Patrice usually gathered up the plates afterward and loaded the dishwasher. But tonight, shaken as he was, Patrice couldn’t bear to be apart from Brad, and it seemed like Brad felt the same way. They remained glued to each other’s side throughout dinner preparations, but the sobering events of the day lingered, replaying in their heads and filling the air with silence that was only broken by the occasional comment.

“He’ll be okay,” Patrice said abruptly as he added potatoes to the stew of leftover Christmas ham Brad had simmering on top of the stove. “Zee will take good care of him. And we’ll help in any way we can.”

Brad nodded, but it wasn’t until they’d both sat down to a very quiet dinner that he offered a verbal response.

“And Zee said he’s taking Charlie to an appointment tomorrow, so he’ll probably be able to know what’s wrong by then.”

“You’re right,” Patrice replied vaguely as he continued to mechanically shovel spoonfuls of stew into his mouth.

Then, later, as he and Brad both cleared the table, he tried a different tack.

“It’s a good thing Charlie’s on IR,” he said, not really believing it but wanting to grasp onto something positive about the situation. “After all, you saw how awful he was looking. He really does need some time to recover from . . . whatever this is. And now he has that.”

The first important remark arrived as they worked on rinsing the dishes together, Brad catching his eye as he scrubbed out the stew pot.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he told Patrice quietly, without preamble.

Suds from the dish soap coated Patrice’s hand, but he rested it on Brad’s shoulder anyway. “Wasn’t yours, either,” he replied, his mouth tugging up in a sad smile.

Even though he couldn’t think of anything they could have done differently, Patrice wasn’t sure if either of them really believed it; he thought it was very likely that Brad was blaming himself just as Patrice was.

But it was comforting to hear the words spoken out loud, to know that at least his boyfriend had more faith in him than he did.


	8. Chapter 8

Even in spite of Zee’s reassurances, Charlie had braced himself for an awkward transition, unsure of where his place would fall in the Chara household, or if there would be any place for him at all.

In hindsight, he was a fool to doubt Zee, because he quickly found that there was no strangeness to his stay with them, because, well, the family didn’t treat him as a stranger. Zee himself didn’t waste any time in carrying his bag up to a lavish guest room, settling him in with a warm drink, and then assembling a collection of books Charlie could read in the spare time he would now have. And his wife only continued the trend. The instant Tatiana laid eyes upon Charlie, she rushed over to sweep him into an embrace. Flurries of snow had caught in her long, honey-colored hair, and a few of the damp strands pressed into Charlie’s cheek as she held him. 

“You poor thing!” she exclaimed, crushing him in a hug so strong that it would put most hockey players to shame. “Zdeno has explained it all to me. Don’t worry. I’ll handle all of your appointments. Three children have given me plenty of practice, I’ll tell you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Charlie tried to tell her, but she shushed him almost instantly.

“I would be be poor hostess if I did not,” she informed him, tsking as she stood back slightly to look Charlie up and down while simultaneously rubbing his arm comfortingly. “You look like you need to eat, and it’s a few hours until dinner. But I won’t keep you waiting.” She whipped around toward the kitchen. “Let me get you a snack—Zdeno has already sent me your nutrition plan,” she told Charlie over her shoulder, pausing momentarily to give said husband a quick kiss on the cheek before zipping away.

Charlie was left blinking in her wake, both stunned and relieved at the unquestioning hospitality.

Zee grinned at him as he passed Charlie another autobiography, adding it to the pile of books he’d already recommended. “Like I said,” he told Charlie, both pride and satisfaction evident in his smile. “You’re always welcome in our home.” 

It wasn’t just Tatiana and Zee who readily accepted Charlie. The Chara children, much to his surprise and then amusement, were delighted with the idea.

“You’re staying here with us?” Eight-year-old Elliz questioned after her parents told the family at dinner. She clutched excitedly at her children’s copy of  _ Anne of Green Gables  _ that she’d brought along to the table _. _ “Are Mom and Dad adopting you?”

The question threw Charlie off-guard, but he rushed to answer it even as Zee gave a huff of laughter and Tatiana bit back a smile. 

“Not exactly,” he hedged carefully, not wanting to seem too adamant in his response for fear of looking ungrateful. “The doctors on our hockey team want me to stay with someone else for a while. So I’m not all alone,” he added, trying to simplify the issue so that children as young as them could grasp the general concept. “And your parents were kind enough to invite me,” he added, acknowledging Zee and Tatiana with a thankful glance.

Far from finding anything amiss, all of the siblings seemed to take Charlie’s presence in stride.

“You should have been here during Christmas,” Ben, one of the five-year-old twins, informed Charlie promptly. “Santa brought us lots of presents. I got a Hulk action figure  _ and  _ a Hawkeye one.”

_ “I _ got Hawkeye!” his brother Zack argued. “He’s mine! I’ll get him and show him to you,” he told Charlie, slipping off his chair.

Ben raced after him. “Hey! I want to show him the remote control R2-D2 I got!”

Thus, Charlie’s post-dinner entertainment consisted of the twins demonstrating a veritable mountain of toys they’d received for Christmas. He sat on the couch, a cup of tea Zee insisted upon giving him warming his hands, and obediently ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ as they told him in detail about each special feature of every one of their toys, scampering back and forth between the family room and their playroom between each bunch to collect more to show him.

“You’ll have to excuse them,” Tatiana said apologetically to Charlie during one of those brief intermissions. “A captive audience to show off every toy they have is like a dream come true to them. But I know you’ve had a long day and must be tired. I’ll let them know to stop so you can rest.”

Immediately, Charlie’s mind flitted back to his large, lonesome apartment, so unlike anything the Chara home willingly provided to him, and he shook his head, smiling. “That’s all right,” he told her. “I’m glad they had a nice holiday. And I think it’s nice that they’re so happy about all of the presents they got, instead of just forgetting about them the next day and wanting something else.”

“Children are the gift that keeps on giving,” Zee remarked dryly as the twins charged into the room, plastic guns in hand and peppering each other with a hailstorm of Nerf darts.

Chuckling, Charlie brought out his phone and filmed a few seconds of the battle, sending the video over to Jake.

_ You don’t have to worry. I’m in safe hands _ , he texted him, adding a smiley at the end. 

Seconds later, Jake responded, sending a line of laser pistol emojis along with a brief message.  _ Don’t be afraid to call me in as the calvary if you find yourself stuck in a firefight. _

The line was really just light-hearted banter, obviously deliberately cheerful to avoid adding to any of Charlie’s troubles, but he found himself touched by the offer all the same, his eyes skipping back and forth to certain sections.

_ Don’t be afraid to call me. If you find yourself stuck. _

* * *

Even though Charlie tried to tell him he could get another ride, Zee insisted on driving him to the hospital before practice and then waited for him while Charlie endured yet more questions and analyses. At the end of the appointment, the doctor flipped through her notes and nodded decisively. 

“You’re not in immediate danger. Barring any unusual results in our blood tests, it sounds to me like you have a food allergy or intolerance, but we’re going to bring you back a few days from now just to be sure. In the meantime, we’re going to put you on an elimination diet. Give me a minute—I have a pamphlet here—and I’ll explain how it works.”

Food intolerance? Charlie sat there, blinking, barely able to believe the good news. He was still weak with relief when he climbed into the car alongside Zee.

“Told you it would be all right,” Zee admonished very gently as he waited for a break in traffic to make his turn out of the parking lot. “I’m very happy for you, Charlie. I know it was extremely upsetting to not have an answer for your condition.”

Charlie nodded without speaking. The relief the doctor’s hypothesis provided to him was almost too great to fully grasp, but he didn’t want to put too much stock in her guess until it had been tried and tested. Already, he’d had enough battles with uncertainty to last him a lifetime, and now he resolved not to think on the matter again until he had definite confirmation.

Still, he couldn’t hold back a smile. “It is good news,” he agreed, before moving to a related subject. “If that’s all that it is, how soon do you think it’s going to be before they let me back on the ice?” 

“Practice shouldn’t take very long. Games are a different story. Most likely not until you gain at least half the weight back. They want to be certain you’d be in top form again,” Zee admitted. 

“Hmph.” The response wasn’t the most heartening, and while it also wasn’t a surprise, Charlie didn’t feel up to discussing it further, so he switched topics again. “You know, you really don’t have to keep giving me rides now if it’s just some allergy wreaking havoc with me. It’s already enough that you’re letting me live in your house. You don’t need to play chauffeur, too. And neither does Tatiana. I can just take an Uber or something next time.”

The expression on Zee’s features shifted into one Charlie couldn’t quite read, intermingled with another that the guys joked was Zee’s “captain mode” face. For a moment, he was quiet as he pulled his Audi into the long line of traffic waiting at the stoplight, and he didn’t speak until he fully braked again. Then he drew in a deep breath and turned toward Charlie.

“This isn’t where I pictured having this conversation,” he said softly. There was a stillness to his words, a quiet intensity to his face. “And I didn’t want to discuss it until later. You’re at my home to rest, not to answer the questions I have for you.”

The statement piqued a sense of trepidation within Charlie, but also his curiosity, and he found himself encouraging his friend. “Now’s as good of a time as any. Go ahead, Zee.”

Zee’s eyes surveyed Charlie’s face for a moment, like he was double checking to be sure Charlie was okay, but then he nodded slowly but decisively. “I need to know if I or anyone else on the team ever said or did anything that led you to choose to not disclose your illness,” he said seriously, his gaze fixed on Charlie’s. “I cannot have that environment for my team. If I’m doing wrong or having players think they cannot speak with me about sickness or injury, I need to know it. And I need to know what you think I should do to change.”

Utterly confounded beyond the point of speech, Charlie could only stare at Zee, questioning his comprehension of his captain’s words. 

But the silence hung heavy in the small space of the car. Zee only looked away from him to start and then stop the car again as the light turned green for approximately five seconds before switching back to red. And it gradually dawned on Charlie that he understood correctly: Zee blamed himself for what happened, at least partially.

“Of course it’s nothing you did!” Charlie exclaimed after a solid thirty seconds of silence. His voice cut loud and sharp through the quiet. “Zee, why the hell would you even think that?”

Zee’s brows knitted together as he contemplated Charlie. “I’m team captain. And you were a player who was ill for weeks but refused to tell anyone about it. Even when your health began interfering with your play, you did not trust a single member of the team or staff with the information. You confided in no one, even though I though I can’t think of a single teammate who wouldn’t help you if given the chance. How could this  _ not _ be a reflection on me?” 

Charlie gaped at him. He’d always believed he was protecting his teammates by staying quiet about his illness, but here was Zee, upset by Charlie’s secrecy and feeling like he’d failed him as a captain because of it. Even now, after Zee had explained, it still barely connected for him.

He needed to tell Zee exactly what had been going through his mind, he realized, still stunned. His silence on the matter, his determination to shield everyone else, had pushed Zee to draw exactly the wrong conclusion. 

“It’s not about not trusting you or anyone else,” Charlie said, trying for sincerity in his tone but ending up with vehemence instead. “And it’s not the team or anyone on the staff. No one did anything wrong, especially not you, Zee. I just thought that . . .” In hindsight, it was difficult to go into his thought process without mentioning how much he’d allowed Talon’s juvenile ribbing to influence him, and he was left struggling to explain without going into detail about his friendship with Matt in college and the shame he felt for it now. “I wanted to prove that I could take care of myself. That I didn’t need anyone’s help. That I didn’t need to rely on anyone else. It’s not that I didn’t think that I could go to anyone—I just plain didn’t want to.”

Relief flashed across Zee’s face, but only for a split second. “Why wouldn’t you want to?” he questioned frankly. “If you knew that any of us could and would help, why wouldn’t you go to someone?  _ To anyone?”  _ Despite a valiant attempt at pushing it away, despair edged into his voice at the last two words, surfacing in his gaze as well. 

Any vague temptation of lying again was wholly extinguished by glimpsing the pain he’d caused Zee, and Charlie forced himself to meet Zee’s eyes even as he wanted nothing more but to look down in shame.

“Because I wanted to prove myself,” he admitted, wincing at how ridiculous it sounded when spoken out loud. “I wanted to prove that I belonged on the team, that I could be just as tough as anyone else. I didn’t want to seem irresponsible or like I couldn’t take care of myself, like some kid fresh to the NHL who had no idea what he was doing. So I thought I’d just manage the problem on my own. And then when I kept getting sick, when I thought it might be more serious, I didn’t want to bring anyone else down or force them to ride out the roller coaster with me. I was sure I was dying, Zee. That’s a lot to ask someone to handle.”

Giving a brief nod, Zee sat still for a moment, absorbing what Charlie had said. Wordlessly, he inched the car forward to follow the flow of cars creeping ahead in front of them as the light cycled to green again, just for an instant, before shifting back to red, seeming to skip yellow entirely.

Anxiety brewing within him, Charlie watched Zee carefully, trying to put to rest the horrible feeling that he’d just wounded him even more by being honest. As he gazed at him, he could see that a muscle in Zee’s jaw was working frantically. 

The car in front of them halted, and then so did they, the only sound the smooth purr of the Audi’s engine as Charlie awaited Zee’s reaction.

Eventually, Zee turned to him. “You could have come to me,” he said, and even while his gaze remained unflinching, a vein of hoarseness weathered away at his voice. “I know you did not, but I want you to know that you could have. And that you can still. My team is not a place where anyone should think they have to face sickness or death alone.” He squeezed Charlie’s shoulder. “I never wanted that for you or for anyone. Thinking about you going through that alone makes me lose all of my breath. I meant to build my team into a better place than that. I’m sorry I couldn’t do that for you.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Charlie repeated firmly, more confident in this sentiment than he’d been in anything else of late. “I made my choices, Zee. I wanted to be a warrior and fight through the pain, just like all the other guys in the League. I wanted people to think I was tough. And,” he added reluctantly, hesitant to expose the weakness but aware that Zee deserved some honesty, “it’s hard for me to ask for help. I’m just, uh . . .” Shrugging, he let his voice trail off, unsure of how else to explain. “It’s more than hard, actually. It’s embarrassing to me,” he finally confessed, and then clamped his jaw shut, fearing he’d exposed too much, that he’d let Talon have his victory by admitting the extent to which his insults had affected him. 

But Zee, understanding as ever, only nodded. “Can be that way, can’t it? First year as captain, I tried to shoulder every task myself. Thought all of it should be my job, since I was captain. Wanted to be everyone’s hero, but at the end, I was just exhausted and disappointed when I couldn’t get the results I wanted. Had to learn the next year how to ask for help, how to assign jobs to my As and the other vets. It was difficult, especially at first, and it didn’t feel right to ask when I thought I should be doing it all on my own. Felt like I was . . . incompetent. Sometimes I even practiced in front of the mirror, rehearsing how I would ask, to be sure I was doing it right.” Zee let out a little huff of amusement at the memory, and Charlie smiled, too, relaxing slightly.

“But asking is just like anything else,” Zee continued. “Becomes easier with practice. You perfect your technique and learn to get around obstacles when they pop up. Learn how it works one way with some people, and another way with other people. Glad I learned how to do it, but time was a definite factor, and so was the experience that first year when I was trying to be the only one responsible.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said slowly. That sounded dimly familiar; he was positive he’d read about Zee’s rough first year as Boston’s captain in some article or another. But it was hard to reconcile the idea with the almost infallible man who sat beside him. Nevertheless, it was true, and Zee didn’t seem to feel any shame in openly discussing his failures. A sliver of envy jabbed at Charlie, wishing he could have Zee’s confidence.

“Thought you might have the same problem,” Zee told him with no judgement in his voice. “After that day when Tuukka found you. That’s why it’s important to me that you stay with my family now. I know it’s not easy for you to ask for help, but I want to be sure you receive it.” An unexpectedly sly smile flickered at the corner of his mouth. “Easy when you’re a guest and have to avoid arguing to be polite.”

The admission had Charlie letting out a half-laugh of disbelief. “You had me stay at your house so you could trick me?”

Completely unabashed, Zee only shrugged. “Needed to make sure you were cared for, and I knew my family and I would do it. Didn’t want to see what would happen—,” he broke off, hastily correcting himself. “Didn’t want you to think you had to stay on your own anymore.”

Weeks of his illness—food intolerance, whatever—might have left Charlie weak, but he wasn’t an idiot. He could fill in the blanks and hazard a strong guess at what Zee had been about to say:  _ Didn’t want to see what would happen if I left you on your own. _

With a jolt, he realized how much he’d actually frightened Zee. He hadn’t just hurt him by not telling him the truth about his illness—he’d really unnerved him, to the point where he thought he had to maneuver Charlie just to get him help. And, well, he had, so it wasn’t as though Zee was wrong about that. 

Plus, what about the rest of the team? Startled, it dawned on Charlie that he hadn’t really given them any thought since his collapse yesterday. He’d texted Jake, sure, but he’d been ignoring the team’s group chat for weeks, and by now it was a habit. No one knew he was okay.

Also, it was kind of weird that Brad or Patrice hadn’t texted. They’d been making a distinct effort to check up on him during almost the entirety of his illness. But then, Charlie thought wryly, it wasn’t like he’d given them any reason to want to reach out any more. Maybe the lack of response had finally had them shrugging and giving up.

Matt’s silence was odd, too, Charlie realized suddenly. He hadn’t heard from him at all. He hadn’t stuck around like Zee and Jake had to find out what was wrong—but then again, what cause had Charlie given him to want to stick around?

Still, it hurt. Matt had been his rock for so long, and they’d made their way from college to Providence to the NHL practically side by side. The idea that he’d lost that friendship had Charlie’s stomach dropping.

Forget Talon. Forget the worry about proving he didn’t need to lean on Matt or the rest of the team. He’d been so busy trying to show he didn’t need them that he’d forgotten how important they actually were to him. How could he have allowed that to happen?

“I guess I really scared the bejesus out of them, didn’t I?” Charlie asked, regret searing through him, glancing at over Zee. “The team, I mean. With how I passed out at practice.”

The line of cars in front of them started move again, and they were closer to the intersection than ever, but Charlie didn’t think they’d be able to make their turn during this light cycle.

“I’ve been keeping everyone updated, letting them know that you’re safe and seeing doctors,” Zee assured him. “Nothing that should be private, just that you’re doing better but need to be out of play and staying at my house for a little while. Figured you may not be up to letting everyone know yourself.”

“Thank you for doing that,” Charlie said automatically, hoping that his team didn’t see his stay as Zee’s house as evidence that he was some dumb kid who needed his captain to correct his behavior. Wincing at the nearly robotic words, he hastily added, “I mean that. I haven’t up to much of anything with the team lately, so it was good that you did that. And I guess, uh . . .” he swallowed, but there was no running from the truth. “I guess I owe everyone a big apology for making them worry.”

Surprise flitted across Zee’s face, and then he frowned thoughtfully. “Apology? No. I think that . . . hmm.” A moment passed as he paused in thought before resuming conversation. “I think that sometimes we are hurting so much ourselves that we don’t realize that we could be hurting anyone else. That doesn’t need an apology, I don’t think. Just . . . awareness. So we don’t make the same mistake again.”

“I still can’t help but feel like I royally fucked up,” Charlie admitted, hot shame coiling in his stomach. “I’m really sorry, Zee. I thought I was helping out everyone by keeping things to myself.”

Zee reached his hand from the gearshift and squeezed his knee. “No need to be sorry. Just keep in mind that it would really help the team if they knew they were helping you. Helps me, too, if I know you’re being cared for you. So please don’t think you can’t ask for help from me or the other guys—it’ll be a nice thing for us to be there for you if you need it.” Lifting his hand, he brushed a lock of Charlie’s hair back in an undeniably paternal gesture, his smile going very soft. “You deserve to have people help you and support you, and you have an entire team of people who would love to do that. Please, please don’t think you have to lie or hide to make any of us feel better. We’d feel better knowing we could help you.”

Touched by what Zee said and struck by the truth of it, Charlie could only nod shakily.

“Good.” Zee patted him knee comfortingly, shooting him an understanding smile. “I know it can be hard to accept for help and hard to accept when you need it, but I really prefer it when I know you are safe and getting better. So if you ever doubt yourself, think of it as a favor to me, if that’s easier. Or a favor to the team. Whatever works best. Just so you know you’re not troubling us by talking to us.”

Still at a loss for words at the revelations, Charlie could barely string a response together, but he it didn’t make his conviction any less heartfelt. “I’ll do that,” he promised. His mind flashed back to his texts with Jake last night, and he could feel a smile curving across his mouth. “I can do that. For you and for Ja—” 

Too late, he recognized his slip-up, and with a rush of panic, he realized that any explanation would involve discussing that horrible night at Zee’s party, and he didn’t want to have to ever go back to that time. Anxiety rising, he tossed Zee a glance, wondering what he would say. 

But Zee just sent him a knowing look and a kind smile. “Don’t forget you should be doing it for yourself, too.”

Slumping back against the leather seat, weariness suddenly settled in Charlie’s bones, as if the day had already gone long, even though it was only morning. And yet, between Zee’s careful but affectionate encouragement and reassurances and the doctor’s optimism, it was like an enormous weight had been pulled from his shoulders. Warmth blossomed in his chest as he let Zee’s words wash over him again.

_ It would really help the team if they knew they were helping you. _

_ You deserve to have people help you and support you, and you have an entire team of people who would love to do that. _

And Jake. Jake had told him he’d be there when he needed him.  _ Don’t be afraid to call me. If you find yourself stuck.  _ And Bergy and Marchy, who’d talked to him for over an hour on Christmas Eve even though they absolutely didn’t have to. And Tuukka.  _ If you think you’re lost, just send me a text. I’ll give you directions to my house, _ he’d said.

_ I have people,  _ Charlie thought, his breathing growing heavy as the reality dawned on him.  _ I’d thought I had to be alone this entire time, but I’ve had people who want to help all along. _

The traffic light cycled green again, and this time, they were finally able to break free from traffic and zoom towards home.


	9. Chapter 9

The next few days easily fell into a routine for Charlie. Doctor’s appointments usually took place in the morning right after breakfast, when the kids had already been shepherded off to school. Since both Zee and Tatiana had invited him to make use of their home gym at his leisure, he usually started his workout as soon as he got home. Per the cautions of the team doctors and trainers, he usually kept it light, limiting his cardio to no longer than an hour and avoiding free weights entirely. Tatiana always joined him during these times, and while she vigorously launched into her own exercises, Charlie had the distinct impression that she was keeping an eye on him. But the thought didn’t bother him as much as it might have even only a few days ago, and even if it had, he wasn’t about to fault a woman for where she went in her own home.

These days he slept late, usually rising with less than an hour before his appointments when he had them or sleeping in past the time when the children had already been bundled off to school when he didn’t. Even despite his late mornings, he found himself usually overcome with weariness by afternoon, and typically spent the hours until dinner curled up on the family room sofa, enjoying the warmth of the fire and the books Zee had recommended. During his first few days in the Chara household, he’d tried to offer to help out with the chores where he could, but both Zee and Tatiana had been aghast at the suggestion.

“You’re here to rest, not to work,” Zee had told him kindly but firmly, in a tone that made it clear that the matter was settled in his mind.

Tatiana was taken aback at merely the notion. “You think we have you stay in our home just for labor?” 

“I just want to help,” Charlie explained, glancing between them and hoping he hadn’t offended her.

Her quizzical expression transformed into something that he thought might have resembled fondness. “Zdeno mentioned you like to be self-sufficient,” she said with a glance at her husband. “But do not trouble yourself. You are a guest. Let us be good hosts to you.”

Both Zee and Tatiana, Charlie had seen almost immediately, placed a great deal of concern on their duties as hosts. As soon as Charlie received the instructions for his elimination diet, both of them had devoted themselves to meal preparation for him, in spite of his insistence he could complete the task on his own, to which Tatiana had quirked an eyebrow, her expression both confused and skeptical at once.

“Guests do not work in the kitchen,” she’d informed him, and that had been the end of it. Charlie let it drop, figuring that if the job was so important to her, she could have it, and that he’d revisit the topic if the diet needed to drag on for more than a few days.

The two of them frequently fussed over Charlie, always making sure that he was warm enough, asking if he needed a drink or a snack or if their children were pestering him. It happened so frequently that Charlie was strongly inclined to guess that it was their caring nature that had drawn them to each other in the first place. Zee was forever foisting some kind of herbal tea he swore by onto Charlie whenever he had the chance, while Tatiana seemed incapable of walking past where he was sitting without spreading a blanket over his lap or tucking another pillow behind him. 

But unlike the time he spent with his parents, Charlie never felt as though they were nitpicking at his behavior, just that they were trying to be sure he was comfortable. And truthfully, it was a nice feeling to be cared for, to know that they were invested in his well-being without being controlling or judgemental toward him.

His afternoons spent reading were usually interrupted by Elliz and the twins arriving home from school and joining him, with Elliz spreading out her homework on the coffee table and Zack and Ben usually lugging in several books to read as they stretched out on the carpet by Charlie’s feet. Despite their abundance of toys, Charlie had been surprised and then touched to find that the books they returned to over and over again were the ones he’d purchased for them for Christmas. Unsure of their reading levels, he’d opted to give them the kind of books he could remember enjoying when he was very young: large hardbacks filled with fantastic ideas and vast, colorful illustrations. He’d gifted one on dragons to Zack and one about pirates to Ben, and frequently they climbed up on the couch to leaf through the thick pages and show him their favorite drawings. 

“That’s my dragon,” Zack declared, tapping on a page with magic marker-smudged finger to indicate a ferocious purple and black beast with horns curving out of its head. “Elliz read what it says, and, um, it can spit gobs of stuff from its mouth—”

“Venom,” Elliz supplied, glancing up from her spelling homework.

“Yeah, venom, and then the venom goes through mountains and stuff, and it can melt towns, and that’s how this dragon makes its den. It doesn’t breathe fire, only venom.”

“I would get the water dragon,” Ben contributed, looking up from where he was tracing a glossy illustration of pirate ships. “’Cause it can dive underwater like a snake—”

“Sea serpent,” Elliz corrected. 

“And go find buried treasure and shipwrecks and things like that,” Ben finished.

“What kind of dragon would you like, Charlie?” Zack asked, thrusting the book into Charlie’s hands.

An instinctive smile formed on Charlie’s face. Already, he thought the Chara children were mirroring their parents, wanting to discover more about others and their opinions, not just their own, always finding a way to include others.

“I don’t know,” Charlie told Zack, trying to keep a serious expression on his face to let him know he considered Zack’s question important. “Can you recommend a dragon to me? What dragon do you think I’d like?”

“I built a dragon out of Legos,” Zack told him, hopping to his feet. “You’ll like that one. Let me find it and bring you it.”

Ben leapt alongside his brother. “And I have a Lego pirate ship. It has a treasure chest with gold coins. I’ll show it to you!”

“I’d love to see both of them,” Charlie told them with a smile, and watched with a surge of affection as they both zoomed out of the room, intent on sharing their prized possessions with him.

While Charlie was expecting Elliz to simply continue with her homework, once her louder brothers were out of the room, she seized the chance to monopolize Charlie’s attention, stowing away her homework in her backpack and instead slipping out a children’s novel.

“This is one of the books you gave me for Christmas,” she said shyly. “I really like it. Do you want to hear about it?”

“Of course,” Charlie responded immediately, pleased that his present to her had been a hit. He’d been shaky on Elliz’s reading level as well, but had known she was a voracious reader from Zee. Eventually, he had selected a few of his old favorites for her, along with the first two novels about a tribe of warrior cats that lived in a forest, which he wasn’t familiar with but hoped were appropriate for her age group.

The book in question that she held was titled _ Surviving the Applewhites, _ and one Charlie had thoroughly enjoyed when he was around her age in spite of not being very into reading. He could still remember most of the plot, but he wasn’t going to shatter her bashful excitement by telling her that.

“Okay.” Grinning, Elliz took a seat beside him, pointing to the book’s cover. “That spiky-haired boy, Jake? His parents are in jail, and his grandpa doesn’t want him. So he gets sent away to live with a different family. They’re the Applewhites, and everyone there is an artist. But this one girl, E.D.—um, she goes with the letters of her name and not her real name—she’s not an artist, and she’s upset about it . . .”

Reading time with the Chara children quickly became a regular facet of Charlie’s day, and he was rapidly elected to reading them their bedtime story—which was several pages of the first  _ Harry Potter _ book—every night rather than either of their parents. 

“You do not have to,” Zee said to him when they’d returned to the ground floor after the first night. “I know those three can be very . . . energetic sometimes. And they don’t have to get everything they want just because they want it.”

But right away, Charlie knew it was a routine he wanted to continue, so he shook his head. “That’s okay. I think it’s cute that they’re so happy to have me around.” 

But it was more than finding their excitement endearing. Storytime always occurred in the twins’ room, with Charlie sitting on one bed while the twins nestled up against him, one on each side, and Elliz lying on her stomach at the foot of the bed, her chin resting on her folded arms. Zee and Tatiana occupied the other bed, sitting arm-in-arm, one or both of them usually holding a mug of tea or decaf. As Charlie read out loud to them about the adventures of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, he couldn’t deny a welcome feeling of connection to the family, that he was a part of them. And since he’d been welcomed into sharing this intimate familial setting with them, it certainly seemed as though he was, and he was immensely grateful for it. After weeks of loneliness, self-imposed or not, it was a blessing and a relief to be part of such a warm, comfortable setting and surrounded by people who genuinely cared for him.

He didn’t know how to explain all of this to Zee and didn’t think he could put it into proper words, but he did his best to offer what he could. “It just feels nice to be a part of something. Since I can’t be with the team right now.” 

There was a nearly imperceptible shift in Zee’s expression, but Charlie knew him well enough to catch it. “You are always part of the team, no matter where you are,” he said quietly, but Charlie could tell that there was something more there.

“What is it?” he asked, vaguely unsettled. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine,” Zee told him, leading him back to the family room so Charlie could resume his place by the fire. “But I wanted—” he hesitated, seeming torn. “You are a guest and you are ill. I do not want to ask too much of you.”

“This is your house, and it’s almost definite that I’m not dying, I’m just allergic,” Charlie pointed out, and he sent up a silent prayer to any deity in existence that it was true. “You can pretty much ask whatever you want.”

Zee aimed a smile his way, just as proud as whenever he spoke of Elliz and the twins. “You are very humble, Charlie. I’ve always been impressed with that.”

A flush crawling up his cheeks, Charlie wasn’t sure how to respond to the compliment, and was relieved when Zee continued without looking to him for a contribution.

“I know it’s been a challenge for you to cope with your situation,” he said kindly. “I don’t want you to think I’m minimizing your own trials or recovery. But I told you once that the team was interested in helping you. That’s still true. But they’re also interested in how you’re doing right now.”

A jab of guilt prodded at Charlie; he’d been ignoring the team group chat almost since his illness began. While he’d attempted to keep up with it at first, seeing his teammates’ chirps at one another and pictures and videos from nights out at the bar had only depressed him, so he’d stopped checking it for his own sake. The avoidance had become a habit, and he hadn’t broken it since arriving at the Chara household.

“I’ve been pretty much radio silent for a while now,” Charlie acknowledged shamefacedly. “I’ll do better now, Zee.”

“One step at a time,” Zee said easily. “No one expects you do it all at once. But I was also wondering if you’d be willing to start speaking with Jake more regularly in particular.”

“Jake?” Charlie reeled back, his heart hammering in his chest at the mention. They’d been texting back and forth several times a day about nothing all that important—funny anecdotes about practice from Jake and cute pics with the kids and details about mundane life from Charlie. But they still hadn’t discussed Charlie’s illness or the events of the Christmas party or Christmas Eve, and Charlie wasn’t sure how to bring them up or if he even should.

“Yes,” Zee replied. “All of the team has been asking about you, and all of them want you to get better. But Jake has been asking many questions every day. I think he’s worried. You might want to talk to him. Especially if you’ve been thinking about him often, too,” he hinted meaningfully.

It was the first time he’d ever alluded to Charlie’s brief mention of Jake during their conversation in the car, and his words made an impact even if he didn’t know the full details. The problem wasn’t that he hadn’t been talking to Jake, Charlie realized. The problem was that he hadn’t been talking about the right things, the things that mattered. Instead, Jake needed to go to Zee about it, because he hadn’t wanted to ask Charlie. Maybe he hadn’t trusted Charlie to tell him the truth, just like Zee hadn’t trusted Charlie to accept aid when he needed it. In both those circumstances, Charlie’s past decisions had been the reason they hadn’t believed him to be reliable, why they’d resorted to other measures.

And Jake had been trying, Charlie knew that.  _ Don’t be afraid to call me. If you find yourself stuck. _

But it was about more than getting stuck, more than just needing help. Charlie could see that now. Jake had been trying to reach out, to let Charlie know he was there for him for  _ whatever,  _ not just for when he had no one else to go to.

“I’m gonna do that,” Charlie said, trepidation and determination coursing through him. In all honesty, he didn’t know where he would begin, but when he thought back to his behavior at the Christmas party,  _ I’m sorry I acted like a jackass because I thought I was dying, and I know that’s not an excuse _ seemed like a solid start. But then another thought occurred to him, someone else who he’d neglected throughout his illness popping into his mind.

“Hey, Zee,” he began, hopeful but cautious. “Has Matt said anything to you about me?”

“Matt?” Zee blinked, and Charlie’s heart sank. “Well—he’s been concerned for you along with the other guys. But I don’t think he’s mentioned anything personally.” 

“Oh.” Charlie swallowed, struggling to hide his disappointment. He supposed it could only be expected. People could only be pushed so far away before they stopped wanting to return at all.

But no. His conversation with Zee, both the old and the new, proved him wrong on that. Zee had insisted that the team still cared for him even in the face of Charlie’s secrecy, and Jake still was worried even with talking with Zee and texting Charlie. Matt hadn’t been doing either, which Charlie instantly assumed meant he didn’t care—but it could also easily mean that he’d been worried, just as Zee had been only moments ago, that he’d be bothering Charlie by discussing it with him. 

He would fix this mess, Charlie resolved stoutly. If this illness was just some fucking food intolerance, there was no good reason for it to ruin his life.

For a moment, he sat, gazing into the flames of the gas fireplace, racking his brain for the best solution. But then Zee stirred his mug of coffee, the spoon quietly clinking against the china, and it dawned on Charlie that now would be a good time to ask for help, just as Zee had been gently urging him to do. 

Drawing in a deep breath, he turned to his friend. “Zee, you said you had issues when you first became captain with trying to do everything yourself and not trusting your alternates to help you, right?”

“That’s right,” Zee said serenely.

“So how did you fix it?” Charlie asked, trying valiantly to stop the desperate edge from slipping into his voice. “What did you do?”

“The same method I used to fix the distrust I thought you had with the team,” Zee replied without missing a beat. “Asking them honestly how they thought I could do better as a captain.”

Charlie stared. “It’s that easy?” 

“Can’t repair anything between yourself and another person if you don’t talk about it,” Zee said gently. “Everything needs a starting point.”

The answer was so simple that Charlie was left feeling quite stupid for not thinking of it himself, but he pushed the negativity aside quickly. It wouldn’t help give him any solutions.

“Speaking of starting points,” Zee went on. “We start our western Canada road trip the day after tomorrow, and then after that, we have our bye week. Do you have any plans?”

“I have a check-in at the doctor’s tomorrow,” Charlie told him, his pulse jumping at the thought. “I’ll know for sure if I’m sick because of an allergy or not. My time during bye week is pretty dependent on that.”

The answer seemed to satisfy Zee, and he nodded thoughtfully before growing more serious. “Whatever happens at your appointment, Charlie, it doesn’t change anything we’ve talked about. Do you understand?”

Resolve toward Jake, Matt, and his other teammates was fresh in his mind, and Charlie met Zee’s eyes without flinching. “I think I’m beginning to,” he said, and it was the truth.


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning, Charlie was too jittery to sleep as long as he normally did, waking up at a quarter to seven, while the kids were still thundering up and down the stairs. Too anxious to be up to socializing, he hid out in his room as long as he possibly could after getting dressed, only bothering to sit down to breakfast because he knew it would worry Zee and Tatiana if he didn’t. It was for them and for them alone that he managed to choke down a single slice of toast and some orange juice before giving up entirely. He didn’t miss the concerned look they exchanged, but he was too nervous to be able to offer them any solace.

Zee wasn’t able to make the appointment thanks to a meeting with management he couldn’t miss, but he gave Charlie a tight hug before he departed. 

“We’re for you no matter what,” he promised Charlie with a supportive squeeze to the shoulder. “Whatever the doctors say, we’ll deal with it together.” 

His green eyes were brimming with warmth and sincerity as he spoke, and Charlie soothed himself during the car ride over to the hospital picturing the look in Zee’s eyes and repeating what he’d said over and over. The silence had Tatiana glancing over at him concernedly, but it was all Charlie could do to cope with the stress coiling around him like a chokehold. Doing his best to keep himself calm, he repeated his teammates’ reassurances to him over and over in his mind as they neared the hospital, and as he made his way into the examination room once they were there, it had evolved into a mantra.

_ Whatever the doctors say, we’ll deal with it together. _

_ Don’t be afraid to call me. If you find yourself stuck. _

_ If you think you’re lost, just send me a text. I’ll give you directions to my house. _

_ We might not be at BU anymore, but I’ll always look out for you. _

Trying to comfort himself, he forced himself to think rationally.  _ It’s most likely just something with food, he told himself. It’s probably a food thing, like you’re eating something you shouldn’t.  _

Still, he didn’t want to take the risk of hoping and get blindsided by bad news, and his stomach lurched when the doctor entered the room.

And the results left him blindsided, but with relief rather than devastation.

“An egg allergy?” he gasped. “That’s it? It’s not cancer or anything dangerous?”

“An egg allergy,” the doctor confirmed. “And it’s a mild one. It only affects you when you’re eating raw eggs or when eggs are on their own, which means you’re fine to eat foods where the eggs are more diluted, like pasta or baked goods. Avoid uncooked eggs or breakfast dishes with eggs, and you should be fine, but I'll give you a list of foods that have them as an unexpected main ingredient.”

Overcome with relief, Charlie was barely aware of his surroundings as Tatiana guided him back out to the car, barely able to believe his good fortune. 

He wasn’t dying. He wasn’t sick. He just couldn’t eat eggs. Hell, if he hadn’t been trying to pound away protein shakes with raw eggs to make up for the calories he’d been losing from his allergy in the first place, he probably would have figured out the answer on his own far sooner. It kind of seemed a lot like that one “For Want of a Nail” poem..

Still dazed, he barely noticed when Tatiana pulled into the parking lot of a local coffee shop and exited the car with a quick promise of returning soon. It was only after she left that Charlie realized that he should probably share the good news with the team. The first priority was texting Zee directly, since Charlie knew he was waiting for an update, and then he shot off a brief message to Jake. Nothing complicated, just a positive, cheerful message that he’d found out his health issues were due to allergies and that he could probably begin practicing again soon. It wasn’t especially deep or heartwarming, but the string of exclamation points and smiley faces he received in return had him grinning nonetheless.

Next was Matt. Though Charlie hesitated and ended up deleting various sentences multiple times, he eventually sent him a short and hopefully sweet notice about his allergy and that he’d be back with the team again in only a short while. Even then, Charlie wasn’t sure how Matt would react, and he almost chickened out from texting him several times. But the memory of Matt’s sincere offer of help at the Christmas spurred him on, and eventually he sent him a message similar to Jake’s.

Matt replied almost immediately. _I’m glad to hear that you’re okay. Hope you can play with us again soon._

The response was both soothing and disappointing at once, but Charlie reasoned it was the best he could have hoped for, given the distance he’d allowed to grow between them. Changing gears from Matt to the entire team, he added a few lines to the group text letting everyone know that he was entirely okay, just allergic, and then sat in awe as his phone promptly began to shake itself apart with elated and encouraging replies from the rest of the guys.

Just as he was about to start a long chain of responses, Tatiana returned to the car, carrying a tray of coffees doused in whipped cream and handing him a foil-wrapped bagel, still warm from the toaster.

“I thought we should celebrate,” she told him happily, winding an arm around his shoulders to pull him into a quick hug. “This cafe makes the very best French toast bagels. Delicious with strawberry cream cheese. Nothing else like it anywhere—and certainly not in any of those corporate chains,” she added with a disdainful sniff, before her expression cleared as he offered her a toast with his coffee cup, clunking hers to his enthusiastically.

“Well, I guess this is the end of my stay at your place,” Charlie mused as they merged back into traffic. “Thanks for having me. It was really nice of you, and it means a lot.”

Just like Zee, Tatiana appeared surprised that they might have done anything else. “Of course,” she said with a little frown. “You needed a place to go, and Zdeno is your captain. What else would we do? Hand you off to a trainer and forget about you?”

“I know you’d never,” Charlie assured her, with a burst of affection for her and Zee both. The two of them were exceptional people, and yet they carried no ego about their generosity whatsoever. He thought there was something very special about their determination to do what they believed was right without expecting any accolades for it.

“But I do want you to indulge me in one thing,” Tatiana said, glancing at Charlie for his reaction, and then continuing at his ready nod. “Stay with us until you’re well enough to practice again. It would be very good for Zdeno.”

Never anticipating the request or the rationale behind it, Charlie gazed at her, open-mouthed. “Seriously? Why do you say that?”

Tatiana briefly turned her attention to the road in front of her to send him a considering glance before elaborating. “You’re young,” she replied, though not disparagingly. “And Zdeno sees that. He knows that. And now that he’s older and a father, it’s more of a struggle for him to limit himself where the younger players are concerned. He has to be their friend and their supporter but also their coach, in a way, and he needs to draw a line between taking responsibility for them as a captain and treating them like children. They’re adults—you’re an adult, obviously. But since you and the others are still young, Zdeno is forced to always judge when he should intervene in your decisions or not. And he often wants to, even when he knows it would be over the line, because he doesn’t want to see young players repeat his own mistakes.” 

“Huh,” was all Charlie could muster up as he leaned back in his heated seat and stared ahead in thought. 

Even with all the jokes about Zee being a dad, even with all the jokes about Zee being _ his _ dad, Charlie had never imagined Zee’s dad-ly instincts were as strong as Tatiana described. Nor had it truly registered with him that they would cause Zee any kind of conflict. Even after their talk when Zee had asked him directly if he’d done anything to make Charlie mistrust him, it was strange to consider someone as wordly and confident as Zee continually second-guessed his decisions. Not that Charlie thought any less of him for it, but it was a solid reminder that he wasn’t the only one who grappled with decisions when they were laid before him. It hit Charlie in that moment that uncertainty wasn’t some unique occurrence that only he experienced—everyone went to war with it sometimes. The knowledge was oddly comforting. 

“I’m not trying to tell you that your health difficulties were for the best, of course,” Tatiana went on. “But having you in our house helped Zdeno, I think. Knowing that he was doing his part and looking out for a young player, being able to cook for you and be sure that you were eating well again—it let him reestablish himself. Prove to himself that he was still a capable captain.” 

Instantly, Charlie’s mind sprung back to Zee’s explanation to him about why it was important he allow the team to help. While he’d comprehended what Zee had told him and had tried to remind himself of it whenever his self-confidence dipped, knowing it and realizing it had been in action all along were two wholly separate matters. He’d never so much as considered that hosting him in his family home could have meant so much to Zee—Charlie had always assumed Zee was just doing it to be charitable. Knowing that Zee was really getting something from Charlie’s presence, that he was benefiting from having Charlie around, even intangibly, had warmth blossoming in Charlie’s chest. Zee had helped him, and without even realizing it, Charlie had helped Zee. And he was glad that he could. 

But Zee, his idol, his captain—he struggled with self-doubt, too. Even now, after more than a decade of successful captaining, Zee didn’t always know what he was doing. Charlie wasn’t the only one to question himself. And now that he had a fuller view of the picture, he wasn’t sure why he’d fallen into the trap of thinking that he was. 

“I’ll stay,” Charlie replied, happiness surging within him. After more than a month of wondering what the future held, it was refreshing to finally look toward the future and feel positive about himself and his prospects. “Thanks for trusting about this stuff with Zee. I never would have guessed if you hadn’t told me. And thank you for letting me stay at your house in the first place. You’ve gone out of your way to be kind, and you’ve both been phenomenal hosts, but I know it must not always be easy.”

“I never could have done anything else.” Tatiana grinned at Charlie and nudged him gently with an elbow. “I know you were worried that you were intruding, Charlie. Zdeno mentioned it to me, just in case you ever said anything. But you never were a bother, not once. And even if you had been, I see you with our children. I see how your books have the twins using their imaginations and dreaming about dragons and pirates. And Elliz chatters about those cat books you gave to her every chance she gets. I think she’s even more excited about having a bunch of more books to read than she was about Christmas itself. And every night, you read to them even though you don’t have to, and you’re happy to do it. So how could I ever think badly of you, begrudge you my kindness, when I can see how kind you are to my children?” 

The praise had Charlie’s cheeks heating till he knew it was impossible for him not to be visibly blushing. “It’s not that big of a deal,” he muttered, even as he glowed at the compliments and wondered if Zee had noticed as well.

He didn’t have to wait long for an answer.

“Big deal to both Zdeno and I if a person cares much about our children and encourages their learning,” Tatiana said firmly. “Especially if we can see them being kind and patient with our children, too. That person will always have a place in our home.” She glanced at him emphatically, holding his gaze, before her expression shifted to amusement. 

“Besides,” she added dryly, “if the rest of us have to listen to those obnoxious singing llama toys you bought for my sons, it’s only fair that you should as well.”

* * *

The text came in almost immediately after he and Tatiana pulled back into the house’s driveway.

**_Jake DeBrusk:_ ** _ We should celebrate you being allergic!!! _

_ Allergic and not actually really sick, I mean. _

_ I have to get up at ass o’clock to catch the plane tomorrow, but you could come over to my place for a while. _

_ If you want to, I mean. _

The invitation caught Charlie by surprise—he hadn’t anticipated Jake being the first one to reach out, especially not after he’d spent weeks turning him down. But he responded right away, and after a brief back-and-forth where he assured Jake he could now eat everything but eggs on their own, they settled on dinner at Jake’s apartment, with Jake promising a mountain of takeout.

The exchange prompted Charlie to make the move he’d been delaying until he had the medical results, sending Matt a message and asking him to lunch.  _ We don’t have to hang out, just talk for a bit, _ Charlie assured him. His heart hammered in anticipation, but Matt agreed, suggesting a time after practice. And around one o’clock, Charlie found himself ambling into a hipster-ish cafe near Matt’s new house that he knew was one of Matt’s favorite places to go out for breakfast. And Charlie had to admit that the eclectic decor of shelves of books and board games lining the bare brick walls and squashy armchairs clustered together did give the place a relaxed, cozy vibe. 

He spotted Matt at a table in the way back, underneath a chandelier of old-fashioned railroad lanterns, no doubt putting himself out of immediate notice to avoid interruptions by fans. Swallowing down his nervousness, Charlie made his way over, grateful that Matt at least seemed preoccupied by his phone and didn’t notice his approach.

“Hey,” Charlie said, putting his hands in his pockets, even as he sat down, to hide how they were shaking. 

Matt looked up at him, but his normal calm and steady gaze had been replaced by a more wary, more tense one.

“Hi,” he replied, and he smiled, but something else flashed in his eyes. It didn’t seem like anger or annoyance, but then again, Charlie hadn’t exactly been a regular Sherlock Holmes when it came to reading other people’s emotions lately.

Thankfully, the waitress flitted over to them as soon as he sat down, handing them their menus and jotting down their drink orders, and for a few moments, Charlie was spared from further conversation. But when the waitress turned to leave, moving out of the way, Charlie’s gaze slipped from her and found himself meeting Matt’s eyes. 

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” Charlie said, feeling as though he should say something. His voice scraped out of his dry throat. “That means a lot.” 

An amused scoff escaped Matt’s mouth as he looked at Charlie in askance, and for an instant, it was almost as though nothing had changed between them. “Of course I wanted to meet you,” he said, and Charlie’s heart soared.

Matt wanted to see him. Despite all of the secrets Charlie had kept, Matt still wanted to see him.

The silence stretched on a few seconds too long as Charlie revelled in the high the words had injected him with, and just as he’d calmed down enough to break it, Matt was speaking again.

“To be honest, I wasn’t really sure if you’d want to hang out again,” Matt continued almost shyly. 

“What?” Charlie lurched back in his chair, stunned. “The fuck? Why would you think that?”

“Uh.” Matt quirked an eyebrow at him. “Like. No offense, because I know you were sick? But Chuckie, it’s not like you’ve been really all that accessible lately.”

Guilt prickled at Charlie’s skin. “Yeah, I got kind of preoccupied,” he admitted. “Zee and his family have been pretty awesome, and it was really nice to just . . . escape, I guess, from what was happening to me. I haven’t really had much contact with anyone except them since I went on IR.”

For several long seconds, Matt just stared at him before he clarified. “What I meant,” he said slowly, “was before you were on IR. When you were still playing with us.”

“Oh.” Charlie could sense a fresh flush overtaking his features even as he recognized the truth of it. “Yeah, I wasn’t really great at communicating with anyone then, either.”

_ “Why?”  _ Matt burst out, surging forward against the table, closer to Charlie. “I was asking you over and over if everything was okay, and you kept saying it was, and then one day you just drop to the ice like you’d just fucking died. When I saw you like that—” his face contorted, as if in pain, and he looked away, clenched and unclenching his jaw.

“The rest of that day I just wondered,” Matt continued, his voice going low. “I just wondered how I’d let you down so badly.”

“Huh?” Charlie sputtered, his mind racing. “You didn’t do anything! What makes you think you did?” He seized on a common connection niggling at his mind. “Zee asked the same thing,” he recalled, frowning.

“Because you never said!” Matt exclaimed hoarsely. “You were sick and you were hurt, but you never said anything about what was going on, even when I asked you. And I don’t—it’s not that I blame you for not doing that. You didn’t have to. But I’ve been racking my brain since the day you collapsed, and I can’t understand what I did to make you think I wouldn’t have listened or that I wouldn’t have helped you!”

The outburst startled their waitress in her approach to set down their drinks, and Matt noticed and set to correct it.

“Sorry, it’s fine,” he told her hastily.

Charlie was surprised at Matt’s vehemence but was exasperated with himself for it. Zee had felt the same as Matt, blaming himself for making Charlie mistrust him, and Matt had been just as good of a captain as Zee, even if he wasn’t Charlie’s captain now. It made sense that he’d share Zee’s feelings, and it had been really oblivious of Charlie not to realize that sooner. Even after Zee had told him that guys on the team would have rather helped him than have seen him suffer alone—it was still difficult to change his perspective and recognize that trait in reality instead of just considering it in practice.

When their waitress departed with their food orders, Charlie hadn’t managed to cobble together much of a response, but he still wanted to say something that would hopefully put Matt’s fears to rest. Matt deserved that much, at least.

“It’s nothing you did,” he repeated more firmly this time, willingly meeting Matt’s gaze. “And I’m sorry about lying to you. I just thought—” he broke off, not sure how to continue, before switching tracks. 

“Did you ever hear the other guys on our team at BU talk about me and you?” he blurted out, his face reddening. “About how I hung around you a lot?”

Bewilderment was plain on Matt’s face. “Yeah,” he replied, uncertain. “Some of the guys were assholes about it.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Charlie confessed, his cheeks on fire at the shame. “I know a lot of them thought I was pathetic for always needing your help and wanting your advice, and I guess that after a while, I began thinking I was pathetic, too. Not that I ever disliked it!” he hastened to add. “I always thought of you as a friend, Matt. But I just didn’t want to be the annoying kid who couldn’t do anything for himself.” Talon’s cavalier insults and careless tone reverberated in his head:  _ You just couldn’t do a damn thing for yourself without Matt.  _ “I thought I should try fixing myself on my own instead of waiting for you or anyone else. It was nothing about you—it was just me trying to live down my old reputation.”

A few seconds passed as Matt just stared at him, absorbing what he said, but then an intense look formed on his features, his blue eyes burning in his face. “You know it doesn’t matter what they said about you, right? Nothing they said matters. Whatever they might have thought of you, you’re here with me now and they’re not. And that’s how I like it,” he added firmly. “All of those times I helped you out back at college? That was because I liked you and wanted you as a friend. And I still do! That’s why I was asking you what was wrong when you were dealing with your allergy. I wanted to know. I wanted to help. That’s what friends  _ do.”  _

Charlie nodded, eager to show Matt he understood, fragments of his prior conversation with Zee surfacing in his mind. “I know. I know you’re my friend, Matt. I’ve never thought otherwise, but I . . .” He swallowed before rushing on before he could prevent himself from admitting the truth. “I didn’t want to be a burden on you. To be someone you constantly had to bail out of trouble.”

Matt’s jaw clenched. “I’ve never thought of you that way,” he said hotly. “If any of those dickheads said that to you, they were wrong.” He calmed slightly, the demeanor of a friendly and controlled captain reemerging, and offered Charlie a smile. “If anything, I always was grateful for you.”

“Me?” Charlie asked, disbelieving. 

“You don’t believe me?” Matt teased, but there was a glimmer of sadness in his eyes as he looked at Charlie. “Trust me, Charlie, I was glad to have someone I could relate to, someone who was going to be going the same route I was. Don’t forget: I was never part of the NHL draft. I never had a group of guys I knew were going through the same process that I was. You were the only one. So, yeah.” He reached out and gripped Charlie’s hand tightly like only former d-partners could. “Yeah, I was really glad for you. I never cared about any of our team saying dick things about us unless they were being dicks to you, and I’m really sorry if any of them were. But you shouldn’t give a fuck, because out of everyone, you’re the person who ended up playing alongside me again. Don’t ever forget that.”

Charlie gripped his hand back, squeezing as tightly as he could, happiness radiating through him. Matt had known what the guys had said, but he’d still wanted Charlie around. He hadn’t just wanted Charlie as a friend, but he’d been  _ grateful _ to have him as a friend. 

Matt, Zee, Jake, Tuukka, Bergy, Marchy . . . he’d been so lucky to end up with amazing teammates who didn’t hesitate to offer him their help. And the least he could do was show them how much he valued them.

“I won’t,” he said, and he meant it. “I won’t forget you anymore, Matt, and I’m sorry that I ever did.” 

Matt smiled, some of the calm steadiness returning to his eyes. “Promise me you  _ will  _ forget about those dicks we knew in college, and you’ll be forgiven.”

Charlie smiled back, reveling in being able to give Matt a genuine smile this time around. It wasn’t the easiest promise he ever made, but it was the most fulfilling one he could ever remember.


	11. Chapter 11

In contrast to the heavy, heartfelt conversations between himself and Zee and himself and Matt, Charlie’s night with Jake was significantly more low-key. He answered the door in cozy thermal shirt, with shower-damp hair that was just beginning to curl at the ends. The sight had Charlie’s heart skipping a beat, as did the enthusiastic hug Jake immediately pulled him into. 

“Cheeks!” Jake beamed, wrapping his arms around Charlie and pulling him into the apartment. “God, it’s so good to see you!”

“You, too,” Charlie replied, grinning himself. It wasn’t even Jake’s typically infectious happiness; he was genuinely glad to see his friend, even if the embrace stirred memories of their Christmas party kiss.

But if Jake was bothered by the similarity, he didn’t show it. Instead, he slung an arm around his shoulders to lead Charlie to the kitchen, the scents of spices and sauces filling the air. Charlie instantly spotted the cause: more hot plates and crockpots than Jake would ever have reason to own had been plugged into the wall socket, using several outlet converters to give them all power at once.

“You trying to blow a circuit or something?” he couldn’t help but ask, quirking an eyebrow at the assemblage.

“Yeah, no, it’s just that my kitchen doesn’t have enough outlets, and I didn’t want any of this pasta to dry out in the stove. And since you said you could eat pasta, I ordered a lot of it,” Jake told him, his voice going a touch shy as he handed Charlie a plate. “I know it’s kind of boring to order the same kind of food we eat all the time, but I wanted to get a bunch in case you were really hungry. That okay?”

“You’re the best,” Charlie told him wholeheartedly, and was rewarded with another radiant smile from Jake.

They began to pile their plates with food, Jake directing him to try several dishes. 

“Oh, try the eggplant parmesan, it’s, like, the one vegtable I like. And they make great calamari, too, so get some of that.”

After filling their plates and grabbing a few sodas, they both settled on the couch, warmth fizzling through Charlie at being back at his favorite place to spend time with Jake.

Just as Charlie was about to dig into his dinner, his stomach lurched oddly as he glanced down at the plate in front of him, almost as though he was going to be sick. Frowning in puzzlement, knowing he’d avoided any dangerous foods, he concentrated on the sensation, tracking it as it ebbed away. Still, he didn’t trust his stomach after all it had put him through, so he put his plate aside to look directly at Jake, who looked back at him guilelessly as he swallowed a large mouthful of pasta.

“I wanted to thank you for the way you helped me out on Christmas Eve,” Charlie said, forcing his voice to stay steady. The typical rush of self-consciousness at the mention of that night filled him, but he pushed it aside. “You were phenomenal. A true lifesaver.”

Jake looked at him, his face uncharacteristically serious. “Really?” he asked unflinchingly. 

Freezing where he sat, Charlie took a moment to set down his plate on the coffee table, taking a deep breath as he fixed Jake with his undivided attention. “Maybe not really,” he said his voice quiet. “But I was still . . . hurt. I was upset about our kiss—not because I didn’t like it!” he hurried to clarify at Jake’s crestfallen expression. “But because I knew I was sick and I didn’t want you to find out. So I was feeling godawful by the time I got home, and then my parents wouldn’t shut up about how great it was that I was so thin.”

Jake blanched. “For real?” he gasped, wide-eyed. “I mean, you  _ looked _ sick, really sick. Don’t they know that you, like, need to be eating to play pro hockey? That it was dangerous for you to be so skinny?”

“I guess not,” Charlie replied, filled by a fresh flood of bitterness toward his parents and their misplaced pride.

“What a couple of assholes,” Jake remarked with true, and, bitterness suddenly swept away, Charlie couldn’t help but laugh at the accuracy.

“Oh, sorry,” Jake said sheepishly. “That’s your mom and dad I’m talking about.”

“No, it’s okay, it’s nothing I hadn’t thought before,” Charlie assured him. “Besides, it’s good to know you’ll stand up for me.” 

That last bit popped out unexpectedly, but he didn’t feel at all self-conscious for saying it, and Jake looked very pleased, pausing before his next mouthful to shoot Charlie a smile. The sight pushed Charlie onward, giving him the strength for what he was about to say next. 

“And I wanted to apologize for kissing you and then running away. That was low. I’m sorry that I hurt you like that. But I just figured that if I was sick, I shouldn’t be starting anything with you. Even if I wanted to.” He could feel his face flame during the last part.

Jake gulped down his food so he could reply. “I figured it wasn’t your typical style,” he joked, but then his face grew more thoughtful. “You know, I’m not going to lie. I was pretty pissed at first? But then it became pretty clear that you had some other stuff going on. Which I’d suspected for a while, anyway. But it reminded me that you weren’t out to piss of me personally.” For a moment, he hesitated, but then continued. “It did really scare me when you passed out at practice, though. I thought for sure that you’d died or something.”

“I scared a lot of people with that,” Charlie remarked regretfully, his mind flashing to Matt and Zee. He looked back at Jake, meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be,” Jake replied. “I’m just really glad you’re all right. And I’m glad we’re talking again.” His hazel eyes shone with sincerity. “I missed you,” he said simply. 

Charlie could feel himself glowing at the easy honesty, warmth unwinding in his chest to diffuse throughout every inch of him.  _ Jake missed him. _

“I missed you, too,” he said shyly, ignoring the voice in his head urging him to stop. “I should have explained sooner about what was going on me. I didn’t mean to ruin anything by not telling you.”

“Like I said,” Jake replied sincerely, “I knew it wasn’t anything you did to me, personally. C’mon, Chuckie, let’s forget all about and just concentrate on you feeling better again. And . . .” A hesitant but hopeful look came over his features. “You said you liked our kiss?”

There were no words to describe how much Charlie had wanted Jake to kiss him that night, and now his heart began hammering again at the thought of it happening again, of being able to actually enjoy the kiss this time.

“Yeah,” he breathed, his heart thudding and heating pooling in his low in his belly. “Yeah, I did.”

“I’m glad,” Jake said with a sexy little smile that had Charlie almost quivering where he sat, and then Jake was shifting closer, crowding in until his face was only inches from Charlie’s, and then leaning closer still. After much too long and too short of a time that had Charlie waiting breathlessly, Jake was suddenly kissing him.

Charlie had heard kisses described as “intense” or “electrifying”, but the kiss between himself and Jake didn’t have that kind of urgency. Instead, it was slow and gentle, like a soothing balm spread across a wound he hadn’t known was still aching. Even as Jake let out a groan and pressed forward, wedging a knee between Charlie’s thighs as his tongue hit Charlie’s mouth and Charlie parted his lips to let him in, all he could think about was how _ right _ this moment and these movements felt, like it was a relief to have it finally occur.

When they broke apart, they both had to catch their breath, but exhaustion was abruptly grappling for hold of Charlie, and he slumped back against the couch cushions, closing his eyes for just a moment, smiling as he did. Beside him, Jake shifted, the fabric of his clothing rustling against the cover of the couch, and then he was lowering Charlie’s head and shoulders into his lap so he could stroke at his hair.

Blinking his eyes open, Charlie peered up at him questioningly, but Jake just gave him a soothing smile.

“It’s okay,” he told Charlie softly. “You can just relax, I’m here.”

A smile creeping over his face to match his blush, Charlie simply settled in Jake’s lap for a few moments, allowing Jake to play with his hair as he relaxed, grateful for the way it had all unfolded, but still weary from worrying about it beforehand.

For a few moments, a comfortable silence reigned, and then Jake was the one to speak first.

“So I’ve thought about it,” he began lowly, looking down at Charlie with devotion that floored him to see. “And I’m glad that Zee has you living with him, but next time you get sick or something, I want you to stay with me. I want to be the one who takes care of you.”

Safe and comfortable and utterly content, Charlie rolled over to look up at Jake, relishing in the warmth of his lap. “Is that your way of asking me out?”

Jake chuckled, combing a hand through Charlie’s hair. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is.”

Happiness cascaded through Charlie, and he practically vibrated with affection and excitement. Jake had missed him, Jake wanted him, and now he wanted Charlie even when Charlie couldn’t be at his best.

Snagging Jake’s hand, he wove their fingers together and gave them a tight squeeze. 

“I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else,” he told Jake, and smiled back when Jake beamed down at him.

Just then, the lights overhead abruptly shut off, plunging the apartment into total darkness.

“What the fuck?” Jake exclaimed, outraged. “We’re not even supposed to get snow tonight!”

The cause was instantly apparent to Charlie. “Those hot plates in the kitchen. Looks like we overloaded the circuit, but I can fix that. Where’s your circuit breaker?”

Charlie couldn’t see Jake shrug, but he could picture it perfectly in his mind. “I don’t know. I’ve never looked for it.”

“It would need to be in a place all tenants or the landlord could easily access at any time,” Charlie rationalized. “So, probably the laundry room.” He stood, tried to take a step forward, and promptly banged his shin on the coffee table. “Goddammit! Ow!”

“Don’t hurt yourself, Chuckie. I know this house better than you. Here.” A second or two passed, and then Jake brought up the flashlight on his phone, his smile strongly resembling the Cheshire Cat’s grin as his white teeth stood out in the darkness, illuminated by the glow. “Come on, then, Mr. Fixit, let’s go.”

With that, he led Charlie to the door, bringing him out of the dark and into the light.

* * *

With his mystery illness solved, Charlie was given one last examination by the team doctor and then cleared to begin training again, which he resumed with a vengeance, only letting up when multiple trainers cautioned him about it. Meanwhile, he was slowly adjusting to being able to eat again without needing to worry. It was a slow, strange process, and on numerous occasions he found himself avoiding meals because he’d become so accustomed to feeling nauseated afterward. During different times, he was overcome by that same revulsion that had filled him during his dinner at Jake’s apartment, and he had to struggle just to force down a few bites.

Tatiana noticed during dinner one night as she and Charlie were clearing the table, observing his almost untouched plate with a concerned frown. 

“Everything all right?” she asked quietly, pitching her voice low so the children wouldn’t hear.

Charlie did his best to give her a smile. “Just a few things I’m working on,” he replied, but within the next few days, the same scenario repeated itself at odd times, sending Charlie into another spiral of worry. Tired of being stressed about his diet, after giving his body approximately forty-eight hours to resolve the issue, he then raised his concerns to the team doctors and trainers. He was expecting some kind of medicine or new nutrition plan and was surprised by what they recommended instead. 

“They want me to see a counselor,” Charlie told Zee, still stunned, when the latter returned home from the road trip. 

But Zee didn’t seem particularly surprised by the idea. “Sports psychologist?” he asked, stirring the vegetables he had simmering on the stovetop.

“Yeah, that’s what they called it,” Charlie said, folding his arms across his chest as he watched Zee. He’d already offered to help, but Tatiana and Zee still had him banned from chores.

Zee hummed thoughtfully. “Are you going to go?”   


“Probably, because I want to get better, and they think it will help. But I don’t know about it,” Charlie admitted, giving a hesitant shrug. “I’ve always thought that therapy was for people who actually had horrible things happen to them, like getting trapped in a burning building or lost at sea or something. Seems kind of weird to go when I don’t really have any actual problems at this point, doesn’t it?”

“You went through more than a month of questioning if you were living or dying from sickness,” Zee pointed out, sprinkling spices into the saucepan. “Isn’t that a horrible thing to have happen to you?”

“Huh.” Charlie blinked; he hadn’t thought of it that way. “I guess it is, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Zee said gently, patting Charlie on the shoulder before weaving around him to retrieve a spatula. “You know, I went to see a sports psychologist for a time.”

Taken aback, Charlie’s arms dropped straight to his sides as he stared at him. “You? Why?” It was hard to imagine Zee ever not having enough of a handle on his problems that he couldn’t solve them on his own.

“In 2011, after my hit on Max Pacioretty,” Zee said calmly. “The consequences alone were enough, but combined with the media focus and the police investigation, it was an incredibly stressful time. I couldn’t stop repeating the play in my head, wondering if I could have done something differently. Eventually, I realized that wondering and wishing it away wouldn’t do me any good, so I decided I needed to get advice from someone else about it.” 

“I never knew that,” Charlie said quietly, his mind whirling. He’d been questioning the therapy recommendation, wondering if it was the right choice, but it certainly seemed like it had worked for Zee. Maybe it could work for him, too.

“I don’t advertise it,” Zee replied. “I wish I could, because I found the process very useful and think others would as well, but I don’t want anyone to think I’m trying to make myself the victim of that incident.” He looked at Charlie directly, his gaze even but affectionate. “But if there’s one thing I’ve learned throughout my time, it’s this: there’s no test you have to take or standard you have to meet to get help. It all comes down to recognizing there’s a problem and wanting to overcome it.”

Strengthened by Zee’s encouragement, Charlie found himself filled with a new determination. He wanted to get back to the team, wanted to play with the guys he loved again, and if seeing a psychologist was what it took, then that was what he needed to do.

* * *

The brief reference from Zee to bye week, way back before the road trip, had Charlie wondering if the family had plans for those days. As it happened, the team had plans for him. One day Charlie found himself shanghaied into visiting a children's museum with Tuukka and his daughters, and the next, he accompanied Backy and his wife and three dogs out to breakfast and then the dog park. Then in the afternoon, Matt and his girlfriend invited him over to see the latest renovations they’d done to their home and to have dinner with them. And all throughout the week, Charlie’s phone was buzzing with invitations to go out to breakfast, to hit the bar, or to just come over to someone’s apartment and hang out. 

Each fresh invite had Charlie smiling, affection for his team rolling through him as he typed out replies. None of the activities the guys were offering were especially exciting; all of them were fairly routine for their lifestyle. But that was what Charlie liked best about it: proof that his teammates were thinking about him and wanted him around, even for the most mundane parts of life. And Tuukka even wanted him to be a part of the limited time he could spend with his daughters—he didn’t even mind sharing those precious moments with him. Charlie could have lived off that knowledge for a year. 

Meanwhile, a strange ritual developed between Charlie and his teammates. The first time it happened was when he was out to breakfast with Coyle and Wags, with Wags breaking off in the middle of telling a raunchy story to stare at Charlie in horror, his eyes darting to Charlie’s breakfast plate and then going back to Charlie’s perplexed face.

“No eggs?” he asked, his voice sounding a touch frantic.

For a moment, Charlie was utterly confused, but then he realized Wags was panicking, wondering if he’d forgotten his own allergy. For merely an instant, he was irritated at the implication he didn’t know his own body, but it quickly faded. It was kind of sweet for his teammate to worry.

“No eggs,” he confirmed, showing Wags his plate of rosemary potatoes, broccoli, and steak tips, and Coyle thumped him encouragingly on the back.

The exchange repeated itself when he grabbed breakfast the next day with Danton and Brandon as they checked out a new bistro in Danton’s neighbor. Just as the waitress turned to Charlie with a smile to take his menu, Danton whipped out an arm and snatched the menu back out of her startled hands.

“You can’t get pancakes!” he blurted out. “You’re allergic, remember?”

“ . . . Allergic to eggs on their own,” Charlie informed him, bemused. “I can eat pancakes just fine.”

“Oh.” His face flushing as Brandon cracked up, Danton sheepishly handed the menu back to the waitress.

“It’s okay, Danny.” Charlie patted him on the back. “It’s nice of you to care, unlike Carlo here,” he added, jerking a thumb at Brandon.

Even Matt got in on the action. When Charlie arrived at his house for dinner with a bottle of wine in hand, Tori, Matt’s girlfriend was there to greet him at the door and immediately promise him there were no eggs included in their meal. 

“Matt planned the menu meticulously,” she said dryly, leading Charlie into the kitchen. “You’d never believe how many times during the cooking process that I had to swear on my grandma’s life that I’m not out to murder you by secretly including eggs in the recipe when he wasn’t looking.”

“I just wanted to be careful!” Matt protested, red-faced, as he accepted the wine from Charlie and went to find him a glass.

Tori chuckled and leaned in to whisper to Charlie, her flowery perfume wafting over him. “Don’t worry, I don’t mean anything by it. I actually think it’s really nice how much he cares.”

Charlie couldn’t help but think back to Talon’s remark about Matt’s girlfriend disliking his clinginess, finding a small but certain amount of satisfaction in seeing yet another one of his opinions thoroughly quashed. 

“Me, too,” he said, smiling at Tori, and when Matt handed him his glass of wine, he clinked his glass with hers first.

Matt and Tori weren’t the only ones to invite him to dinner. Patrice and Brad corralled him over to their house, too, readily agreeing that Jake could come along when Charlie tentatively floated the idea past them.

“This is kind of exciting, isn’t it?” Jake commented eagerly to him, adjusting his sweater as Charlie punched the doorbell on Bergy and Marchy’s sprawling Cape Cod. “Our first dinner as a couple with another couple. Too bad it’s a little bit late for a first impression, huh?”

Before Charlie could respond, the front door whisked open, and Brad was pulling him into a tight hug, throwing his arms over Charlie’s shoulders to hold him as close as possible.

“About time that you stopped by,” Brad told him, his voice somewhat muffled thanks to his face being buried in Charlie’s collarbone, and when he pulled back, the sheer relief in his gaze startled Charlie.

But Brad didn’t say anything further about Charlie’s IR or allergy, instead just towing him inside. “Come on. Patrice was in charge of the appetizers, and some of them aren’t even scorched.”

As Brad led them to the kitchen, Charlie cast a smile Jake’s way and belatedly replied to his earlier remark. “Yeah, it’s past time for a first impression,” he murmured. “But . . .” gratitude surged through him as he glanced at Brad. “I think I like it that way.” 

The steady “plonk” of a knife hitting a cutting board registered as soon as they rounded the corner to the room; Patrice was chopping up vegetables for a salad. Just like Brad, when his gaze landed on Charlie, he immediately rushed to embrace him, completely forgoing his task in favor of smothering him in a bear hug. 

“Glad you could make it, Charlie,” Patrice said, and his voice was so genuine and affectionate that Charlie thought he might melt at the sound of it.

“I thought it was only polite to finally accept one of your invitations,” Charlie said, both an apology and acknowledgement hidden in the words. 

“Hmph.” Brad glommed onto Charlie again, bottle of rum in hand. “We’ll just take plain ol’ you, Cheeks, polite or not.”

Charlie ducked his head, trying not to grin like a fool, even as elation flooded through him. Seeing Zee proven right, seeing his team demonstrate how much they cared for him again and again, was a truly wonderful feeling.

“Hey, either of you guys want to see the modifications we’re doing for our deck?” Brad asked Jake and Charlie as he began fixing their drinks. “It’s going to blow Zee’s straight out of the water. He can forget about being the main barbeque host from this spring onwards.”

Jake sprung up. “I’d love to!”

Charlie glanced skeptically out the window, remembering that they were supposed to get snow that night. “Thanks, but I think I’ll stay in.”

“That’s the New Yorker in you,” Jake chirped, following Brad to the patio exit.

As the two of them vacated the house, Charlie found himself alone with Patrice, who promptly switched to the cocktail preparations that Brad had abandoned in his excitement.

“Want me to keep chopping?” Charlie asked, motioning at the intact carrots on the cutting board.

Patrice smiled at him as he poured hot water from the kettle into several mugs. “Please.”

As Charlie picked up the knife, it occurred to him how long it had been since he’d fixed even a snack for himself. Even though it felt odd to admit it, and the self-conscious part of himself didn’t want to acknowledge it, he found himself remarking to Patrice, “You know, I’m out of practice here. Tatiana chases me off if I so much as glance toward the kitchen.”

“That sounds like her,” Patrice commented, laughing, before looking at Charlie consideringly, concern in his gaze. “You know, when we heard that you were living with Zee’s family, we were relieved, all of us. We knew they’d take care of you. And—we wanted that. We wanted you to have someone to lean on. Brad and I . . .” Bergy looked away for a minute before shrugging and looking back. “We were so worried about you. For the longest time, we weren’t sure about what was happening with you, and it really bothered us.” He smiled again, relief clear on his face, just like it had been on Brad’s. “You’ll never know how good it is for us to see you all right again.”

Mortification hit Charlie hard as his mind flitted through the tally of all the previous dinner invitations from Brad and Patrice that he’d rejected. “I’m so sorry,” he said, stricken. 

“You didn’t know,” Bergy said gently, pouring a shot of rum into a mug and handing it to Charlie. “Here you go. A hot toddy for a cold night. Drink.” He waited until Charlie had taken a sip before continuing. “Just know that you have us. We’re here when you need us.”

Charlie inhaled and breathed in the scents of lemon, cinnamon, and honey before taking a sip, the spices leaving his tongue tingling pleasantly. 

“It’s wonderful,” he told Patrice gratefully. “Thank you.”

Patrice smiled at him kindly. “You’re welcome, Charlie. You’re welcome anytime.”

Charlie couldn’t resist—he stepped forward and wrapped Patrice in a hug, not sure if he was doing it for the other man or himself. But judging from the way Patrice gripped him in return, he appreciated the gesture. 

When they stepped apart, no words needed to be spoken, instead just exchanging a look of mutual understanding, before Brad and Jake hurried back inside, both shivering. 

Snow flurries had begun to lazily down to the ground, and the wind howled ferociously against the windows, rendering the warm atmosphere all the more cozy. Jake immediately dragged Charlie over to the fireplace. 

“C’mon, Cheeks, come and cuddle and warm me up,” he begged.

With Patrice’s blessing to abandon salad-making duties, Charlie obliged, he and Jake settling comfortably before the fire together.

As they sat side by side, arm in arm, Charlie couldn’t help but think back to that last time he’d been a teammate’s house for a party, recalling the oppressive loneliness that had plagued him that night at Zee’s house before Christmas. It had been less than a month ago, but somehow, it seemed like years. Everything in his life had changed so radically. Charlie had altered  _ himself  _ radically, with the help of Zee and his teammates and Zee’s family, and he was forever thankful for it.

These days, Charlie barely looked back on that night of his conversations with Talon. Whenever the thought so much as passed through his mind, he focused on the other times he’d spoken with Zee, Matt, Jake, Tuukka, or any of his other teammates. 

And as he curled in closer to Jake, relishing in the warmth of his body and the calm refuge that was Brad and Patrice’s house, nothing about his past reputation at BU seemed remotely important. He was where he was, with people who loved him, and for now, those were the only things he wanted to matter to him.


End file.
